


Bear With Me

by melonsflesh



Category: K (Anime)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-23
Updated: 2017-01-10
Packaged: 2018-08-24 02:54:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 58,338
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8354107
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/melonsflesh/pseuds/melonsflesh
Summary: After receiving a particular complaint, Fushimi is sent to the local nature reserve to find the whereabouts of a bear gone mad.
Instead, he finds the ranger.





	1. Search

**Author's Note:**

> It seems I wrote my first multi-chapter fic! \\(°-°)/ It'll be short though, but I'm really excited for it, and I hope you all enjoy it! ^^
> 
> Super big shout-out to [Chrome](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Chromophilic_Daydream/pseuds/Chromophilic_Daydream) for being the beta for this whole story! I don't have enough words - thank you so much for your enormous help and for bearing (ha) with me through it! ♥

Everything itched. Mosquitoes roamed just about everywhere, and who knew what else was probably sitting in his hair.

Shaking his head for the umpteenth time, he brushed the uninvited guest away and a few more out of his sight. If only he could get himself out of this situation, too.

He couldn’t wait for this stupid case to be over before it even started.

_‘I have a slight hunch about this, Fushimi-kun.’_

There hadn’t been any reports of bear attacks in a long time, but suddenly, there were, and while the victims just were _not_ , none, zero, here he was, under the ghostly sensation of thousands of six-legged critters crawling up his legs the deeper he ventured into the forest, all because his boss had a stupid, sentimental hunch.

His uniform wasn’t made for this — his boots were made for cement and posh floors, that was what he signed up for — not for _oh God_ , did he really want to know if what he just stepped on was mud or if it came out of some very indisposed animal?

Fushimi wasn’t made for this.

Incidentally, due to the excessive number of international meetings being held all over the country, even an elite organization like Scepter 4 was currently short of people.

_What a joke._

The Captain didn’t help. He still insisted in sending one his best men to the national park without so much as his knives _and_ alone, as to not raise suspicions if he were to encounter someone trying to ‘cover up’ for the creature they were after and its alleged actions, and also to avoid disturbing the rest of the fauna living there.

Regardless, Fushimi still had his goddamn uniform, so he didn’t exactly know how Munakata and his goddamn hunch planned to sort this out.

Even if there was the remote possibility of getting his own way, there was no chance he could compete against Awashima’s steely gaze and _‘It’ll only take you five minutes’_ , and _‘Behave, we don't need the press all over us, and those people have helped us in the past’_ , and _‘It’s an order’_ , and period.

At any rate, he had to admit his situation was far better than Domyoji’s case — no way was he wading into the local river with ridiculous rubber boots to recover some important belongings and documents of some government car that had crashed and sunk into the water.

All their recent cases had been highly insignificant, actually. Akiyama was currently in charge of a small gang of pseudo street artists damaging national monuments. Kamo was taking care of amateur motorcycle thieves. Gotou and Hidaka were after two pickpockets that disguised themselves as an elderly couple.

So, Fushimi didn’t quite have promising expectations for his situation, either.

At least no one but the offspring of Mother Nature was there to watch him trying to keep his feet from stepping on a few snakes or dodging a bird voiding its bowels dangerously close to his face.

He needed to find someone to be able to speak human with. Now.

It was getting close to the end of his shift as well, and he had no intention of staying long enough to see what the sunset looked like from inside the thick woodland.

(He’d only been there once last year for the reinauguration of a new segment of the park or something, and he hadn’t even stepped inside. Having been summoned along with some of his coworkers and several other people to attend the governor’s speech, he’d been present for the ceremony but had hardly taken any interest in the words uttered, and barely raised his gaze in time to catch the moment the governor and Munakata shook hands at the end of the rite. He wasn’t even wearing Scepter 4’s elite regimentals, for a ‘hidden weapon user’ was to blend with the crowd were trouble to arise, Munakata explained.)

The reserve wasn’t that far by car, and he’d long left the tall, dense living fence which bordered the park and connected it with the highway he’d parked the police vehicle, and the metal gate — closed, but unlocked — granting him access inside. Nonetheless, he’d lost count of the minutes he’d been trudging through the undergrowth trying to catch sight of any human sign of life, or the small lodge he’d been told he’d find in about six.

He stared down at his phone.

Okay, it had only been three minutes, but it felt longer.

Four minutes into the forest and everything was still the same, save for his long coat that was now hanging on his arm as his fingers slipped the buttons of his vest free, and the sporadic rays of what was left of the daytime sunlight filtering through the tops of the redwood, prompting him to raise the same hand to his forehead to keep it from hitting his eyes.

Five minutes into the forest, he glanced down at his phone, secured firmly in his other hand as he shook it, hoping a bit of brute force would help make the GPS map update at any moment, even though the screen had remained frozen ever since he got out of the car because he couldn’t get the signal to work in this area for—

“Shit!”

Five and a half minutes into the forest, Fushimi heard someone.

He stepped closer, more slowly, effectively making out a cabin first, and then...

He saw someone.

The hand on his forehead had flown to his lower back, and his fingers were now loosening their grip on the knife in the holster on his waist, before moving back up to cover his eyes.

It was the ranger.

Fushimi squinted.

He’d been expecting someone more... beefy, in plaid, with prominent beard, and a more mature appearance.

Not someone... smaller, among other things.

A basic black tank top and fitted denim capris framed his body, along with a red jacket tied to his waist, and simple-looking hiking boots. A dark beanie covered most of his head, with some unruly strands of coppery hair poking out of the sides, the rest reaching down to his neck.

Definitely not the kind of ranger Fushimi expected to find.

Some — heavy, it seemed — crates laid scattered next to him, which he was piling up, one by one. There was still no beard, no heavy build, but the muscles on his arms rippled with every lift, and the cut of the tank top accentuated his form, being open enough at the back to allow Fushimi to catch a glimpse of his shoulder blades flexing.

Focus.

Just as he was poised to announce himself, the ranger dropped the last crate in place to grab a wicker basket, before turning around with a quick spin.

There was a moment’s silence as they faced each other, assimilation trying to settle into their heads.

Fushimi held his gaze, but the redhead’s deviated, straying over his body for a brief moment before flicking back up. Fushimi broke the visual contact as well, taking a quick glance at the acorns overflowing the basket in the other’s hands.

“You got business with Homra?” he asked suddenly, drawing Fushimi’s eyes back up to him. A hint of wariness approached his face, like he was ready to react in some way depending on Fushimi’s answer.

“Who’s that?” Fushimi asked plainly, moving a little toward a shadier spot and letting his hand drop from his forehead to his side.

The ranger’s eyes widened a bit. He seemed surprised — whether it was from Fushimi’s counter-question or not was unclear — and blinked a few times before he visibly relaxed, his little frown disappearing.

“N-never mind... hey,” he said, placing the basket back on the ground and running a hand through his beanie and the hair on his neck, as if to style them, his taut arm tensing more with every little movement of his fingers.

_What._

Fushimi mentally shook his head. “Are you in charge here?” he asked, concise.

The other’s eyebrows shot up, a bit taken aback. “Um... yeah? Yeah. Well, not of... the whole thing. I just cover _this_ ,” he explained as one of his hands pointed downward, drawing a circle in the air with his index finger, “part of the... y’know, the reserve.” His other hand rested on his waist, as though the slight stammering in his voice could pass unnoticed with his confident stance and the faint glimmer of something strangely cocky behind the smile that suddenly spread across his face.

At Fushimi’s silence, however, that weird eagerness around him faltered.

“Yeah,” he granted at last, seemingly dispirited. “And... who are you?”

Without replying, Fushimi raised his phone to let his official Scepter 4 ID on the screen answer for him.

“Wha...” The redhead raised an eyebrow, bending forward a little to look at the phone better. “You’re lost?”

Fushimi yanked his phone away, internally cursing when he saw the GPS map was still frozen on the screen. “Damnit,” he muttered, clicking his tongue in utmost irritation as he pushed the ‘Exit’ button repeatedly until the application was successfully closed, and then tucked his phone back into his pocket. “Fushimi Saruhiko from the Tokyo Legal Affairs Bureau, Fourth Annex—”

“Wait, what?”

Fushimi paused. He didn’t like having to repeat himself, but the scandalous yet comical look on the other’s face somehow made up for the small trouble.

“Scepter 4,” he rephrased.

“Oh, yeah!” the ranger smiled sheepishly, and then he froze up. “Wait — you’re a cop?” he asked, sneaking a swift glance at the blue coat over Fushimi’s arm. “You’re a cop.”

Fushimi nodded. “Your name.”

“Ah, Yata!” he responded a bit too quickly. “I-I mean... yeah, it’s Yata.”

Fushimi narrowed his gaze. “Yata?”

Yata nodded feverously.

Something about the whole interaction felt... off. Fushimi quickly dismissed it; in return, he hoped _Yata_ was just as enthusiastic about cooperating with him and getting this over with. He’ll bother with the rest of his name — if that was his name — later.

To the point, then.

“Fine, Yata. Where’s the bear?”

The dead silence that followed and the slightest hint of Yata’s eyes widening at the same time his little smile crumbled away were telling, but then—

“What?”

Fushimi sighed. “Listen, I have more important things to do. The more you tell me what you know, the quicker this will be over.”

“Wh-what do you mean?” Yata asked, blinking rapidly.

“There have been complaints of bear attacks.”

“... S-so?”

“So, I’ll ask you again. Where is it?”

“I—” Yata paused abruptly, his eyebrows turning into a slight frown, this time regarding Fushimi with a steely gaze. “Nowhere.”

“Really. Nowhere,” Fushimi deadpanned.

“I-I mean, sure, there were some bears!” Yata stammered, looking as if he was struggling to form a smile. “Not anymore, though! A-and they don’t attack people! They have their own place now. They don’t need to come out anymore. Yeah.”

Yata’s distressed but steady gaze screamed _suspicious_ , but made Fushimi meet doubts for a moment.

“They said they saw it running off to this side of the reserve”, he said, glancing to the sides.

Yata kept quiet for a moment, and then made a sharp _‘che’_ noise. When Saruhiko looked back at him, Yata had turned his eyes away, but he was still frowning, and the corner of his lip was pulled back, as if baring his teeth.

This was pointless.

Fushimi wondered if a five-minute interrogation was good enough. It definitely was more than what he was willing to settle for at the moment. Moreover, it was getting dark.

Awashima’s strict words reverberated forcefully in his head. Her _‘Behave’_ had been resolute, and it implied he couldn’t resort to threats at such delicates times and for the sake of whatever kinship these _people_ had formed with Scepter 4 without his knowledge.

“Thank you for your time,” Fushimi eventually offered with a small nod, for protocol’s sake.

Something about the flicker of resignation that crossed the ranger’s face in that instant threw him off momentarily, but he ignored it and turned to leave.

He’d only made it a few steps back to where he’d come from, when Yata’s voice reached his ears, loud and deep.

“I-I come here every day!”

Oddly, he found himself stopping and casting a glance over his shoulder with slow deliberation, his mouth hanging open slightly, but no words coming out. Yata stiffened visibly, as if he wasn’t expecting their eyes to meet a last time.

Upon offering a small, noncommittal sound, Fushimi turned back around and walked away. It was a couple of seconds later that he thought he heard his name being called, but he chalked it up to the rustling of leaves, and this time, he didn’t stop.

 

 

ʅʕ  ˙ᴥ˙  ʔʃ

 

 

“I see...” Munakata expressed upon being apprised of the situation the next day, his elbows resting on the desk and fingers firmly interlaced together. “My source wasn’t very helpful, either.”

Fushimi stared at him, incredulous. “You have an informant.”

“Not quite.” Munakata’s look softened, and a tiny smile found his lips. “Or rather, yes, _unofficially_ , if it can be called one.” After a brief, contemplative pause, he went on. “In any case, it seems you’ll have to insist them, Fushimi-kun.”

Meaning, had Fushimi pushed for more when he could, it wouldn’t have been necessary to have to meet up with the ranger again.

_Yata, huh?_

“Another complaint came in this morning, but I won’t deploy any forces without solid evidence.”

“Do I have to go back there?”

Munakata’s smile grew a bit wider, and that was implicative enough. “Would you rather wish to partake in Domyoji-kun’s squad?”

Fushimi almost choked.

Now he was stepping over the line.

It was common sense that Munakata didn’t have time to deal with petty issues like these, being busy with every single meeting that required his impeccable assistance at the moment. Nonetheless, his obvious laid-back posture gave the feeling of this particular case being some kind of joke, or false claim, at best, hence his somewhat cavalier attitude toward it and the reason why all these alleged attacks didn’t look to be worthy enough to be a major priority on his agenda, or to get himself involved.

Well, if that was it, it was fine. It meant fewer headaches for Fushimi, and maybe for Yata, too — even he could admit feeling a bit sorry if the ranger were to confront the Captain personally.

No choice but to insist, then. “Fine. Excuse me.”

He turned halfway to leave, when Munakata’s voice made him halt. “That was a joke just now. About joining Domyoji-kun’s team. I wouldn’t subject you to missions you aren’t comfortable with,” he clarified, somewhat fondly, as Fushimi turned to him with an untroubled look. “But I wouldn’t charge you with a task I’m not one hundred percent sure you can complete, either.”

Fushimi sighed. By now, the words slipped out automatically, “I can take any mission you give me.”

Munakata looked pleased. “That’s the spirit.”

 

 

ʕ ˙ᴥ˙ ;;ʔ

 

 

“Hey! You’re back!”

Yata put down the empty basket he was carrying, face lit and eyes wide open, brimming with something akin to anticipation and something else Fushimi wasn’t used to but he recognized belonged on the complete other side of the spectrum of the negative, more realistic emotions he was more familiar with. Contentment, maybe, if the radiant smile was anything to go by as well.

He looked the same as yesterday, minus the beanie.

“You’re earlier, huh? Fushimi, was it? You wanna drink something? I have mineral water?” Yata offered. Overwhelmed, Fushimi had to pause the discourse he’d rehearsed in his head to process the questions in its place. Sensing the awkward silence, the other continued. “No? Um... then, maybe next time?”

Fushimi frowned slightly at that. “I didn’t come to drink.”

“Th-that so? Okay... you just looked like you could use something to drink, though. It’s hot around here,” Yata said with a timid smile, his eyes falling on Fushimi’s open vest. “And... that looks heavy,” he went on, his toned arms crossed confidently over his puffed out chest as he nodded toward the blue coat hanging off Fushimi’s arm. “And your... _those_.” He pointed to Fushimi’s boots. “They don’t look very comfortable. No offense.”

Was Yata lecturing him on how to wear his uniform?

What this was all about, Fushimi had no idea, and the whole attention felt weird and unnecessary.

Still, something about the mood was strangely contagious, and before he was aware of it he found himself quipping back with a roll of his eyes and just as much ease.

“The only thing they’re offended about is the shortage of proper paths to walk on.”

Yata stared at him speechless for a moment before his expression softened, a wide grin taking its place and a soft snicker reverberating not long after. It almost made Fushimi smile at his own trifling words as well, and feel the tension he’d come with slowly slipping off his shoulders.

“Heh... well, I’m sorry they’re so delicate. How ‘bout you just call me next time you’re coming and I wait for you at the entrance — with these babies,” Yata boasted keenly, lifting one of his feet off the ground and flaunting his worn hiking boots. Almost instantly, something about the edgy silence that was left hanging in the air after what he’d said must have struck him, judging by the way his eyes widened and his gaze skittered away. “Shit,” he murmured.

Fushimi wasn’t any less confused, but seized the opportunity to shove that previous, blithesome aura off him for a moment and focus, shortening the distance between them.

“If you’re finished staring so much,” he joked, to which Yata looked up, flushed, and sputtered a halfway _‘I wasn’t!’_ which Fushimi’s voice still stepped all over, “I need you to cooperate. And I need you. To _cooperate_ ,” he emphasized.

For a brief moment, only the chatter of birds replaced the lack of words.

Yata straightened up, his blush diminishing. “Okay. Shoot! Is this about the bear thing?”

“Hm.”

Yata let out with a sigh, bringing a hand to the back of his head sheepishly. “I told you everything. There isn’t much else to know, really.”

“There was another complaint.”

This time, a frown marred his brown, and his lips twisted in a slight grimace. “Who the fuck is complaining now?”

“Civilians. I guess.”

“Y-you _guess_? What the hell?”

Fushimi clicked his tongue. “Just take me where their den is.”

Yata bit his lip. “R-right, their den. No problem. Follow me.”

Upon waiting for him to put on his jacket and lock the door of the cabin, Fushimi let Yata lead the way and instruct him on where to walk to avoid snake nests, anthills and other critters’ households he really didn’t want to mess with. Because he’d come an hour before the end of his shift, the sun was still visible, filtering through towering trees and illuminating the way.

“By the way... you don’t look like them,” Yata said suddenly, peering over his shoulder and laughing softly. Fushimi listened, his curiosity piqued. “Most of the cops from Scepter 4 are all rigid and uptight. You look like you just came out of a mov—” he stopped abruptly, swallowing hard and snapping his head back to the front. “Uh, which division or whatever were you from? Forensic? Nature?”

Fushimi bit back a derisive snort at that. “What kind of division is that?”

“Whatever. Seriously, who the hell sends you dressed like that?”

Fushimi clicked his tongue, but, yeah, it was ridiculous, wasn’t it? That much they agreed on. “Intelligence,” he answered to Yata’s previous question, seeing no harm in admitting it.

Yata turned his head back at him, still walking. “Wow. Really?”

“Hm.”

“That’s so cool,” Yata resolved with a grin. “You a spy or something?” he asked keenly, but the more Fushimi stared at him, the more Yata’s lips quirked up, his cheeks reddening and puffing out slightly, as if he was trying to contain a larger smile.

Realization settling in, Fushimi exhaled in a rush of air, “Don’t fuck with me.”

Yata’s mouth hung open mockingly and dramatically, a very obvious hint of a smile tugging at the corners. “You said a bad word,” he whispered.

Fushimi rolled his eyes. “Looks who’s talking.”

“Yeah, but you gotta set an example.”

They held their gaze for a moment, and then Yata turned, retaking the lead. A blaze of golden sunray shone off his hair, turning it a brighter hue of amber, as if setting it on fire. His little smile never left his face as he led them through the rest of the forest, a gentle rustle of leaves grazing their legs.

Fushimi only responded with an amused _‘hmph’_ , and followed close behind, watching the way Yata’s feet smartly maneuvered over trunks and rocks and small bushes, like he had memorized a messy pattern too lacking of logic for anyone else to try to understand it.

 

 

ʕ ´˙ᴥ˙` ʔ

 

 

“All right, we’re here!”

After trooping together a long way — which overworked Fushimi’s lungs and legs more than he thought it would, his boots were _not_ made for _hiking_ — they eventually reached the borders of the reserve, which were delimited by a short rock wall at waist height that ran along the length of the forest. Fushimi stepped closer to it and stretched his head over the edge, finding clear water around seven meters down. A couple of kilometers farther up that wide mass of water was an isolated island, surrounded by rocky shores, that was big enough to harbor the few bears that were thought to be left in the reserve.

“That’s it,” Yata said. “You’d gotta cross the bridge — but it was taken down, see that?” he explained, pointing at the remainders of the two ends of a bridge that was there once. “But no one goes there, and nothing comes out of there, either, except during inspections.”

“No swimming?”

“You kidding? We get there by ship now.”

Fushimi repressed a snort, mentally face-palming. Never looking away from the island, he went on, “You look like the kind that would float.”

It took Yata a moment, then he elbowed Fushimi’s arm. “ _Shut up_ , bastard,” he hissed, but the shrill sound of his voice revealed he hadn’t taken any significant offense. “But just so you know, I’m the best swimmer you’ll find ‘round here.”

“Out of what, the fish?”

Yata frowned at him. “Dumbass.”

“Bragger.”

Jokes and Yata’s defiant look pushed aside, Fushimi looked about; even if the wooden bulletin board next to where he stood informed possible passersby of the bears’ den beyond the reserve’s terrestrial limits, the route from the forest to the island and vice versa was, indeed, impassable on foot. For that matter, the strong current obviously made it hard for a human to swim through, but it would be relatively easy for bigger animals.

“I meant the bears.”

“Oh... well, yeah, they swim, but they can’t climb up here.”

When Fushimi looked back at him, Yata’s bright eyes met his with a sort of expectant hope, his lips pulling into a half-smile.

“See? There’s nothing... no bad bears.”

Fushimi turned his head toward the island. “Yeah.”

Eventually, and upon his request, they skirted along the edge, but he found no alternative routes, and no sign of bears whatsoever.

They retreated back into the forest from there, and since they had obviously taken another route, the small lodge they came across on the way back wasn’t Yata’s.

But Yata started jogging toward it, anyway.

And, _damn_ , the midget was fast.

“Heeey!” Yata called.

“Oi, Yata—” Fushimi began, but his complaint fell on deaf ears. He frowned slightly, already envisioning what would come next. The thought of having to depend on others didn’t appeal to him, but with the stupid GPS on his phone out of service, he really needed Yata — or the map in his head, at least — to lead the way back, so he helplessly found himself trailing after the little ball of energy that was the ranger. “Damnit.”

“Hey! It’s me!”

“Mm? Ah, hello, Yata!” a mellow voice replied back. When Fushimi caught up with Yata, he saw its owner, a cheery-looking blond wearing simple brownish pants and a blue sweatshirt jacket, sitting on the porch stairs and setting up an acoustic guitar.

“Yo, Totsuka-san! What’s up?”

Fushimi tasted the name in his head. _Totsuka... Tatara?_

Yeah, he remembered seeing it popping up during his search.

“Ah, a little quieter,” Totsuka whispered, holding his index finger over his smile in a shushing gesture. “Mikoto is sleeping.”

_Mikoto... Suoh, maybe?_

He remembered that one, too.

“Hah?” Yata glanced briefly toward the cabin with a sheepish smile, asking in a much lower voice, “What? Again?”

“Mm. He said the cicadas on his side were really loud. Although... _loud_ isn’t exactly the term he used,” Totsuka laughed softly, as if he was sharing some inside joke, before catching full sight of Fushimi behind Yata. “Mm~? Who is this? You brought a friend?”

“Ah, right. He came to check the reserve. He’s, uh... from Scepter 4,” Yata said, scratching his cheek bashfully, and then turning his attention to Fushimi.

Yata didn’t seem to notice, but that simple statement seemed to stir something within Totsuka, whose eyes quickly lightened up at the same time his lips parted in a growing ‘o’ shape.

“This is Totsuka-san, my coworker,” Yata told Fushimi. “He covers this side of the reserve, so, well, his cabin’s kinda close to mine — we’re like neighbors, or something, heh. And Totsuka-san, this is—”

“Oh! Could this be the officer you told me about?”

Yata’s face turned into stone for a moment.

His usually vivid eyes grew wide in something like dread, and the rest of his body froze on the spot as well, as though there wasn’t fire running through his veins anymore.

Letting out a loud gasp, Totsuka went on, “This is like a date!”

“What—”

“T-Tosuka-san!” Yata yelped, snapping his head back to the blond so fast that it looked as if it could have popped out of place. His cheeks were ablaze, his lower lip trembling.

“If you stay a little longer you might be able to see the lighting bugs!” Totsuka beamed with a quick glance at his wristwatch.

Date? Stay? See the what?

Fushimi was lost. Incertitude washed over him, an influx of _weird_ sensations warring inside him as he tried to accommodate into his being both the secondhand embarrassment and the familiar powerlessness that took over him when he was unable to retort to something or grasp anything from the situation in front of him, all logical reasoning thrown out the window.

“Totsuka-san! He came to see the _bears_!”

The fact that Yata seemed to be even more thrown off than him was not exactly relieving, just tolerable, acceptable. Only slightly, though, because... honestly, what was with that reaction?

“Oh.” Totsuka paused. “But have you asked—”

“ _NO_!” Yata cut him off hurriedly, attempting to steady his voice, “I didn’t — yet — I — no! I don’t _know_ him — ugh, he’s just taking a look!”

Ha, ha.

This was uncomfortable.

“Ha, ha, my bad.” Totsuka’s eyes shifted to Fushimi. “Nice meeting you, Officer-kun. I’m Totsuka Tatara.”

Introductions seemed a bit pointless at his stage, but Fushimi went along. “Fushimi Saruhiko,” he said, finding his voice a bit weak.

Totsuka didn’t pull his gaze away right off, and Fushimi found the unwavering attention unnerving, being studied from head to toe and back as though he was some sort of attraction. It caused his susceptibility levels to shoot up and his composure to begin to falter under the intrusive observance.

A couple of seconds later, seemingly satisfied, the blond flashed him another smooth smile and his attention settled back to Yata. “You totally should, though, Yata.”

“Should what,” Fushimi deadpanned with a frown, a little irked.

“ _Nothing_!” Yata rushed in, somewhat agitated still, but took a deep breath afterwards to compose himself. “Nothing... a-anyway, he wanted to see the bears’ island and, yeah, w-we were just getting back.”

“Totsuka,” a gravelly voice sounded from the cabin. “What’s all the noise...”

All heads turned toward the new person standing by the cabin door.

“Ah, Mikoto. Did we wake you up?”

“Oh, good evening, Mikoto-san!”

Suoh Mikoto’s presence was... imposing. He certainly didn’t look like a ranger — then again, who of the three looked like one? — but he didn’t look like someone another human or animal would want to mess with. He owned a far more intimidating, redoubtable carriage than Yata or Totsuka’s, and the way he plodded out the cabin gave the impression of some creature that was to be contained but had been just woken up from its slumber.

The white v-neck t-shirt that stuck to his torso and the tight, black jeans clinging to his legs accentuated his muscles in a way that Yata’s outfit did not.

Fushimi didn’t find it unsightly per se, but it had a somewhat more repelling effect, and made him want to tear his gaze away.

He glanced around at the trio. Overall, they looked like they just decided to go camping and grabbed the first thing they found in their wardrobe.

“Evenin’, Yata. What’s this about?” Suoh drawled back lazily.

“Were we too loud? We’re sorry,” Totsuka apologized, but Suoh merely replied with a low grunt. His half-lidded gaze, from somnolence or apathy, slid from Yata and then to Fushimi. Totsuka noticed, and carried on. “Ah, this is Yata’s friend, Fushimi Saruhiko. He’s from Scepter 4.”

Fushimi glared at everything. Without even dwelling on how shamelessly Totsuka basically spilled the beans about what little he knew about Fushimi and introduced him in his place, exactly when did an exhaustive hike through the forest officially make him someone’s _friend_?

Before he could find the chance to retort, Suoh’s voice took over. “Fushimi, huh? You’re Munataka’s kid?”

Fushimi wasn’t sure of what to make out from that. Wariness crept over him, and his eyes widened slightly; beside him, so did his _friend_ ’s.

“Munakata?” Yata asked curiously, looking between Fushimi and Suoh.

“Hn,” Suoh grunted again and turned around, one of his hands slipping lazily beneath his shirt. “Totsuka, tell me when it’s time to go.”

“All right!”

“A-ah! See you later, Mikoto-san!”

Before retreating inside, Suoh cast a last glance at Yata. “Yata.”

“Yeah?”

He looked over at Fushimi again and seemed to mull over his own thoughts for a moment, as if deciding whether to keep something to himself or not, before facing Yata again.

“Don’t make too much noise. The walls are thin.”

The latter.

If that was all, he should have just said nothing at all.

“Don’t... what?”

Totsuka perked up at that. “Ah, that’s true. The animals’ welfare comes first!”

“Hn. Later.”

The last vestiges of logic that Fushimi’s composure have been clinging to finally dissolved together with Suoh’s coarse suggestion and his semi-hunched figure walking back into the cabin and shutting the door behind him.

“I had enough of this,” Fushimi mumbled cuttingly, his voice hoarse, trying to ignore the improper dig behind that unnecessary _advice_ as the scalding pressure in his head, and suddenly everywhere else, became even more unbearable. “Oi, it’s getting late—” he trailed off, looking at Yata, or at a statue of Yata; the guy went rigid as a log. “ _Oi_ , Yata.”

Beside him, Yata’s face twisted from an expression of pure confusion to sudden realization. His mouth slowly hung open, his lips twitching without a sound, inhaling and exhaling staggering puffs of air. His hair, more darkened due to the lack of direct sunlight and the imminent twilight, now matched the vibrant flush of his cheeks.

Fushimi would’ve thought it amusing; fooling about with a guy like Yata was diverting, it helped the time pass, but with other people watching it was all a bit... inhibiting.

“Oi, what’s wrong with you,” he insisted.

 _Don’t be so,_ he readied himself to rebuke, but as Yata’s body gave a sharp jolt and turned to face him, still in a daze.

“I... h-he didn’t,” Yata started, panic edging into his voice, “I mean, th-that was just—” he cut himself off, his eyes shifting back and forth, until they stopped to lock on Fushimi’s; first on the right and then on the left, and then on both, and then lower, a little longer on his mouth, and a little longer on his open vest, and back up.

 _Obvious_ , he concluded eventually, a whisper in his mind amidst the buzzing in his ears stifling every thought.

Averting his eyes, unable to stand the weight of that look, he found that Totsuka was still staring at them, _smiling_.

_You, too._

Resolute, he clicked his tongue and turned around, stepping away from the voiceless yet overwhelming commotion.

“Oh, you’re leaving? It was nice to meet you, Fushimi!”

That seemed to make Yata react as well.

“Hah? Wh-what? Hey, w-wait! That’s not the way — s-sorry, Totsuka-san, I’ll see ya later!” Yata hastily excused himself, sprinting toward Fushimi, with Totsuka waving a hand behind them.

“Mm, I’ll see you later, Yata. Take care, both of you!”

 

 

ʕ ๑˙ᴥ˙๑ ʔ

 

 

“H-hey, Fushimi, wait.”

Fushimi clicked his tongue, not bothering to look at Yata, lest he do that... thing he did a moment ago.

“M-Mikoto-san... d-don’t listen to him, or Totsuka-san. They were just... y’know how friends are, heh. They misunderstand everything, right?” Yata went on as if Fushimi wasn’t the one needing the reassurance the most. “Mikoto-san was... h-he always jokes around... yeah,” he trailed off.

Joking around? Oh, that man definitely didn’t come off as the type to _joke around_ , but who was Fushimi to judge? He wasn’t the type to take long tours through parks, yet here he was.

Whatever, the faster he got out of there, the better. All the unneeded interaction was starting to feel exhausting, making his thoughts reel around in his head, inciting him to wander over things he never bothered to think about.

_Friends._

He clicked his tongue again. Yeah, right. What did he know?

The rest of the walk wrapped them in silence, and a good chunk of minutes later, they reached Yata’s cabin.

“So...” Yata stared at him intently, tucking his hands into his pockets. “Anywhere else you wanna go?”

Rubbing his eyes beneath his glasses, Fushimi exhaled a long sigh and considered his next steps.

He hadn’t seen the bear, and neither Totsuka nor Suoh seemed affected by the prospect of one roaming free. For the first time after a long while, he was lost.

“No.”

Yata made a small acknowledging sound, and paused for a bit before continuing. “Then, uh... what’s gonna happen if there’s another complaint? You gonna come again or what?”

Fushimi asked himself the same thing. “Probably.”

“Um... you aren’t bringing reinforcements or anything like that, right?” Yata’s curious look wavered when Fushimi’s only reaction was to stare at him with a raised eyebrow. “I mean, look at this place.”

“I can’t speak for Scepter 4’s resolution.”

“Y-yeah, but... that’d be bad. For the animals. And...” he trailed off, his eyes drifting to the ground.

“... What?”

Yata tipped his head back up quickly as if he’d been pulled out from his thoughts, meeting Fushimi’s gaze squarely. “Nothing! I was just saying.” He shook his head. “I’ll give you a call if I see something — I mean,” he cleared his throat, crossed his arms over his chest, and gave a little shrug. “We’ll be here if you need something.”

“All right, whatever,” Fushimi acquiesced unthinkingly and exhausted as he turned around to leave. Honestly, whichever option he was offered sounded good enough at that point. He was worn out, both mentally and physically. It was impressive how depletive walking on pure soil could be, and he couldn’t wait to bury himself into the driver seat and drive back to headquarters and then to his apartment.

And then it struck him.

“Hey, wait!” Yata called at the same time.

He stopped, turning halfway with his eyebrows raised. Yata stiffened, and then relaxed. Eventually, he brought a hand to the back of his neck, his lips slowly quirking into a tiny smile.

“Can I... have your number?”

The question made Fushimi’s eyes widen, taken aback for a moment as a growing incertitude settled in. Yata couldn’t possibly be able to read that private reaction, but he must have felt something ambiguous about his petition, too, because the next moment he was raising both hands in a defensive fashion.

“I-I mean... so I can call you! If I see something, that is,” he quickly added, and was Fushimi imagining it or had Yata’s face turned a shade redder? “You never know with... animals, right? And it’s fucking weird that people keep seeing a bear running off here but we don’t even see _them_. So, maybe I can help... you? With that?”

Fushimi stared. Leaving aside what Yata’s request implied — socially speaking in a specific kind of cliché-y situation which Fushimi wasn’t really sure it involved an actual intention of _helping_ him with his case, and why the hell was an assumption like that even present on his mind —, the instinctual reaction to deny it anyway settled on the tip of his tongue.

The sudden ringtone of Yata’s phone going off cut through his deliberation and had them both jolting a little.

Mumbling out a curse, Yata quickly fished his phone out of the pocket of his jeans, but the melody kept playing. His eyes snapped open wider and Fushimi noticed his thumb hovered over the screen with indecision, looking as if he was debating with himself whether to answer or not.

Suddenly, he looked up and met Fushimi’s gaze, who in turned had an eyebrow raised at him.

The next time he glanced back down at his phone, he picked up.

“Yo, Kamamoto! Is everything okay... Hah?! What do you mean she’s eating everything?” Yata snapped, and then his voice quickly dropped to a very strained whisper. “Just give her the fucking acorns, you dumbass!”

Fushimi was about to click his tongue, a mix of irritation and the feeling of having no place in the situation invading him, when he felt the buzzing of his phone in his pocket.

Turning his gaze away from Yata, he found some relief in noticing that the cell phone signal didn’t seem to be as affected as the GPS’s one, and picked up as well.

“Captain.”

 _“Good evening, Fushimi-kun,”_ said Munakata. _“I hope I’m not interrupting anything.”_

A couple of steps from him, Yata had begun... yelling, his voice reaching many different kind of atrocious notes. “You know what — just fucking deal with it, damnit!”

A resigned look overtook Fushimi’s face. “No. It’s fine.”

“Just do me this favor, man!” bellowed Yata, louder. “ _Aaagh_!”

_“Oh, my. Should I be concerned about that person’s well-being?”_

“Uh, no... it’s just the ranger. Don’t worry about it.”

 _“Hm. Trouble in the reserve?”_ Fushimi clicked his tongue in response, a mix of annoyance but silent agreement, which in turn made Munakata hum a tiny, pleased sound. _“Fushimi-kun, what’s your current situation?”_

“I’m still here. I’ve confirmed the status of the den.” A sigh. “But the animal in question hasn’t been identified. This place is big, though. It could be anywhere.” _If_ there actually was one, because everyone’s insouciant behavior convinced him otherwise.

_“I see.”_

There was a brief, pensive silence, and then a shrill roar which sprung from Yata’s mighty throat. “Goddamn it, why is everyone asking?!”

“I’m... getting back now,” Fushimi mumbled.

“ _Yes_ ,” Yata hissed, “about his goddamn number, idiot.”

Fushimi turned his head at that, half skeptical, half curious.

_“Oya? Making friends, I see.”_

He blinked. “Come again?”

_“Very well, Fushimi-kun. I called to check on the state of affairs, but it seems I’ll be awaiting news from the warden team.”_

“What?”

_“Having a close and fluent interaction with the parts involved in a case is essential in every investigation. Call it another type of bonding.”_

“Captain, I don’t—”

_“Keeping in touch with people who can contribute valuable information is a wonderful idea. Your spirit of initiative is always appreciated, Fushimi-kun. Well done.”_

“Huh? We’re... not keeping in touch—”

 _“That’s not acceptable. Be sure to spell out your number clearly for them, and to note down theirs. Miscommunication is truly a horrible thing,”_ Munakata paused for a moment. _“It looks like my intervention wasn’t necessary, after all. Go home when you’re done, Fushimi-kun, and drive safely.”_

Fushimi found himself staring into space, dumbfounded and unsure of what to respond; by the time he came to, he realized Munakata’s voice had long stopped sounding in his ears. Was it even there in the first place?

Upon glancing down at his phone, the words ‘Call Ended’ twinkling in red validated their conversation’s fleeting existence.

So, _that_ had just happened.

_What the...._

He turned slowly to glance over at Yata, who was now muttering something inaudible under his breath and frowning a bit, this time with a tiny smile that had found the way to soften his expression and make him look more relaxed.

For all Fushimi knew, _‘drive safely’_ might well be _‘drive safely, after interpreting what was just said as an order and executing it’_.

“Damnit.”

Choiceless, he thought it through. He hardly gave his work number to anyone, mainly because he didn’t have anyone to interact with besides his coworkers in a strictly professional setting.

On the other hand, something about this stupid case still didn’t sit right with him, and whatever he could find out about the reserve, Yata and... whatever he felt he was not being told might help silence his doubts.

All be for strictly professional reasons.

Well, he _had_ given his number to Domyoji sometime in the past... so what did another stripe do to the tiger? In the worst-case scenario, he could block Yata whenever he wanted.

“Y-yeah, thanks, Kamamoto. I’ll talk to you later,” said Yata before hanging up. He then looked over at Fushimi with an apologetic smile. “Hey, sorry about that.”

With his mind made up — not exactly, honestly — Fushimi raised his phone and brought up the ‘New Contact’ screen.

“Oi,” he said. Yata’s smile faltered, and Fushimi gave him a second to snap out of it before tossing his phone to him, not without a swift warning slipping in. “Don’t waste my time.”

Yata caught it with precision and spent two, three seconds staring dumbly at the device in his hands before his expression lit up, his smile growing back.

“Cool! Just gimme a sec!”

Fushimi waited; it wasn’t as if he had to do something after this, given that Munakata had dismissed him as soon as his investigation of sorts in the reserve was done. There wasn’t much to report about, either. The investigation hadn’t been a failure per se, but all he basically did was follow Yata around.

As for Yata...

Fushimi’s brain short-circuited for a moment, struggling to find some logical significance of the correlation between the way Yata was biting his lower lip, as if failing to suppress an even more uncontainable smile pushing his cheeks up, and the fact that he was doing so while typing his number on Fushimi’s phone.

It was a little unnerving. Was he deceived? What motive did Yata have for looking so happy?

“Okay, done!” Yata exclaimed, tossing the phone back to Fushimi, who quickly pressed the ‘Call’ button and hung up instantly as soon as he heard Yata’s ringtone go off. Yata took a moment to save Fushimi’s number. “Gotcha! Fushimi... Saruhiko, right?”

Fushimi hummed in agreement, vaguely giving Yata some credit for remembering. Only then did he look at the characters the other had typed alongside his number.

He couldn’t help a smirk.

So _that_ was it.

“You do realize I’ll find out, anyway, right?” Fushimi drawled, seizing the chance. “ _Misaki_?”

Yata looked up from his phone instantly, eyes wide and unblinking. “How did you...”

Fushimi tucked his phone into his pocket, giving a small, playful shrug. “I don’t recall denying being a spy.”

Yata squinted with skepticism, as if somehow seeing right through that. “Are you?”

“Nah.”

It had been too easy. The night before, with a few clicks on the files of Scepter 4’s civil registry database, the list of employees of the park and Yata’s personal information were popping up with ease, along with Totsuka’s, Suoh’s, and yes, that Kamamoto from just now, among others. Curiously, ‘Homra’, which Yata had mentioned during their first meeting, appeared in a field marked as ‘Affiliations’ for both Totsuka and Suoh’s files. It was some low-key gang of sorts, apparently.

There wasn’t much apart from that, but there was the ranger’s last name, and there was _Misaki_.

“It’s not nice to hide information from the police, Misaki.”

“D-don’t call me that in public!”

“In public,” Fushimi deadpanned.

“Yeah! And I didn’t... _hide_ anything,” Yata grumbled out. “Keh, what’s the big deal, anyway?”

Technically, Fushimi never pushed for more and settled for _Yata_ , but still. Before he could stop himself, provocation had already crept into his voice.

“Mh, ‘what’s the big deal’? You tell me, Misaki.”

“Oi.” Yata’s expression was one of irritation before settling into reluctant resignation, his cheeks growing a bit red. “I get it, just... don’t go saying it like that, _Saru_.”

Little did the nickname do to affect him, and he rolled his eyes. “There’s a bear on the loose and you worry about the most trivial things.”

“I’m not worried! And don’t get so cocky just because you went and used your damn mad fishy spy skills.” Yata straightened up, his arms crossed over his chest challengingly, his grin ever so daring. “I could do that too just by looking at you!”

Fushimi raised an eyebrow, the corner of his lips tugging upwards mockingly, accepting the provocation. “Sure you can. Enlighten me another time.” He threw his coat over his shoulder and turned around, ready to leave Yata behind. “Just remember what I said.”

The silence that reigned after he walked away from the cabin told him they were done, at last.

How foolish it was of him to think that Yata had given up.

“For starters, that uniform is fuckin’ ugly — so all of you guys have a terrible fashion sense.” Yata breathed in, and went on. “And I bet you sucked at P.E.!”

Fushimi rolled his eyes, his walk steady. “Yeah, yeah, you’re a better swimmer than I am. Heard it the first time,” he acknowledged tiredly, waving his free hand over his shoulder in a dismissive manner. Seriously, Yata just needed to stop talking to his back.

“Well, at least ‘m not limping!”

Fushimi’s pace faltered, more than it _had_ ever since they’d ceased dodging nests, anthills, and exposed roots of trees and he found himself hobbling along on more plain ground.

He stopped, and without moving an inch of his head, his eyes drifted down to his feet, suddenly becoming painfully aware of all the pulsing nerves throughout his legs, his toes curling inside his boots. Admittedly, he hadn’t realized it was that obvious, until he heard it from Yata.

Slowly, he turned his head around.

“Heh. I bet you’ve never even gone camping, huh?” Yata was still standing there proudly, with his hands on his hips and a triumphant, little smirk complementing the impish look on his face. “It always happens, the first time,” he added with a shrug. “See? It isn’t that hard. I know things, too.”

Fushimi let out a sharp puff of air before turning again to follow the route back to the entrance.

_Not bad._

He’d made a couple of meters away from the cabin, when Yata’s voice rang again.

“And you keep your phone with you!” he shouted. “Some animals like it when their preys are all alone.”

It was actually hard to tell if he was serious, but as Fushimi fought against the urge to turn and respond in some way and kept walking, the challenge-flavored sensation that Yata’s unpredictable retaliation had stirred within him had already made itself comfortable in his analytical mind.

Having found Yata’s little display of shrewdness both trifling and thrilling, Fushimi shook his head, a bit in disbelief, a bit in resignation.

_Not bad._


	2. Exposure

The next Monday, Fushimi’s fingers halted their rhythm over the keyboard. Beside them lay his unresponsive phone.

It had been two days, and no calls, texts, smoke signals, or whatever from Yata.

“Awaiting an important call, Fushimi-kun?” Munakata asked as he passed by his cubicle, prompting Fushimi to click his tongue. Typical.

“I didn’t hear any knocking.”

“Please, forgive my unprofessional behavior, Fushimi-kun.”

Fushimi sighed. “Just an annoying behavior. What is it?”

“Oh, I was just asking, since it looked like you were staring at your phone very thoughtfully. Did I misunderstand something?”

Fushimi looked up, meeting his boss’s amused expression with helpless acceptance. “I hope you’re aware that this was all your idea.” He breathed out a tired sigh; he’d meant to keep it to himself, but eventually he let it out. “Don’t we already have an informant in the reserve?”

The fleeting stillness that followed suggested that the implicit meaning behind that question hadn’t passed unnoticed. Fushimi’s progression might not be able to keep up with Munakata’s, but he was no _kid_.

“Hm. As I said,” Munakata eventually said, composed, “I’m afraid that my sources aren’t going to be of much help at the moment. They’re not... committed enough.”

“Huh...”

Munakata straightened up, clapping his hands together. “I’ll leave you with your work now, Fushimi-kun. I must supervise Akiyama-kun’s case before I leave for today’s meeting with the committee. Let me know if something interesting comes up.”

_Doubt it..._

“Yes, sir.”

Munakata strolled away from his cubicle. Just before he was completely out of sight, he brought a hand to his chin. “There used to be a bear,” he contemplated thoughtfully, but as Fushimi stared up at him questioningly, he returned his look with a confident smile. “Oh, it can’t possibly be the creature we’re looking for, though. Don’t mind me.”

Fushimi regarded him with a raised eyebrow. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

As his boss retreated from the office, Fushimi uncrossed his legs and stretched them out under the desk, finding that the slight discomfort from days ago was gone.

 

 

ʕ - ᴥ - ʔ

 

 

Five hours and a stack of insignificant reports later, his phone buzzed with a call.

“Look who decided to call. And here I was thinking the bear had killed you after I left.”

_“Huh... hey! Y-you could’ve called, too!”_

Fushimi leaned back, staring up at the ceiling. “Why would I do that? _You_ asked for my number, Misaki.”

_“Sh-shut up, Saru! A-and you gave it to me, so it’s fair!”_

“That doesn’t make any sense.”

There was a stark silence during which Misaki let out a low, throaty sound, the kind Fushimi had only heard some dogs make.

When he spoke again, it was quietly, as if their previous banter hadn’t happened. _“Hey, F-Fushimi...”_

“What?” Fushimi asked warily, puzzled by the sudden seriousness.

_“You’re a real cop, right?”_

“What?”

_“I mean, people can trust... you... right?”_

It took him a moment to respond. What was he getting at? “I suppose.”

_“Right, that’s... good.”_

“... Is that all?”

“ _Um, no, there’s more, it’s... about the... not just the whole, uh, thing with the bear, but... well, any animal, you know—”_

“Oi,” Fushimi cut him off and Misaki recoiled instantly, making an instinctive _‘geh’_ sound. He could actually picture him giving a jolt. “I have things to do. Hurry up.”

There was a brief beat of silence. _“Yeah, okay,”_ Misaki breathed out hastily.

“Now, _Misaki_.”

_“Hey, don’t rush me, I’m there! And don’t call me that!”_

“At the very least it makes you speak.”

_“Ugh, shut up... Okay, I was wondering... Scepter 4 doesn’t hunt bears or anything, right?”_

“... What?”

_“Yeah...”_

“What kind of question is that?”

_“Uh, I don’t know... I was just asking.”_

Fushimi exhaled audibly. “Did the ugly uniform give you the wrong idea?” he mocked, immediately carrying on and ignoring Misaki’s muffled protest in the background. “No, we don’t. No one is allowed to, for that matter. You’re the ranger here — _you_ should know it’s illegal.”

_“W-well, you never know with people. I’m kinda new about this.”_

“What,” Fushimi pinched the bridge of his nose and let his eyes close for a moment, “are you even doing in the reserve?”

_“Huh? What do you mean?”_

“Do you even work there?”

_“Hah? What the fuck, Saru?! You saw me there!”_

“I know what I saw, that’s why I’m asking.”

_“What? Just because we don’t have a uniform like yours doesn’t mean we don’t work there!”_

“Hm.” Fushimi smirked. “Basically, anyone could...”

Fushimi halted, his smile vanishing into a frown as the vivid memory of the first time he saw him slipped through.

_Anyone could pull off that look._

Even if his name was among the rest of the employees that worked there, Misaki wasn’t the kind of person he’d expected to find there, that was all, what with his... complexion and other factors that he found more than intrusive and unnecessary at the moment.

_“Anyone could what?”_

Fushimi clicked his tongue. “Never mind.”

_“Huh... hey, how are your feet?”_

“What?”

_“Your legs okay? You were limping pretty bad.”_

Fushimi stared into space, a pause settling between them. “Was that all, Misaki?”

_“Fine, yeah.”_ Misaki let out a little chuckle. _“Yeah, so I’ll... talk to you later?”_

“Just call me if you see any bear.”

_“Roger that!”_

 

 

ʕ  - ᴥ -ʔ

 

 

Fushimi was confused.

Two days after, the next time Misaki contacted him, his message was empty.

Roughly thirty seconds later, the next message Misaki sent him was also empty, save for the small camcorder icon next to the unfilled subject field, which indicated that there was a video attached to it.

A video.

Fushimi narrowed his gaze in skeptical suspicion at the frozen thumbnail of the file, which showed the side of Misaki’s cabin from a distance, prompting several thoughts to reel through his mind.

Why did Misaki send a blank message, twice? Why would he send a video? Was he the one who sent it? Did something happen?

He hesitated, looking around the office. He’d planned on staying and finishing up the work that he’d put off two days ago to go to the reserve, so almost all of the rest of the cubicles were empty.

Well, what was there to lose?

Eventually, he swiped his thumb over the ‘Open’ button.

“...”

He didn’t know why he actually got his hopes up.  

 

> _Open file “he-didn’t-believe-I-worked-here-so-I-(the-best-ranger-in-the-city)-surprised-him!!.mp4”?_
> 
> _YES / NO_

 

It took him some effort to ignore how the overdramatic vibe of it reminded him of those cheesy hidden-camera experiment videos that Domyoji would e-mail to all the squad every single weekend, and which he’d automatically and remorselessly delete every single time.

But he reluctantly pressed ‘YES’.

It took a moment for the video to load, and when it finally did the clip unfroze and started playing, the camera starting to move and getting closer to the cabin.

**_“Yo, Saruhiko! It’s me!”_ **

“Fuck,” Fushimi cursed as his fingers moved hastily to lower the volume of his phone, feeling a cheap drill of a heart attack as the organ in his chest gave a drastic leap at the sudden loudness of Misaki’s lively, earsplitting greeting.

_“So, last time you—FUCK! Fuck, almost step on shit... uh, where was... oh, last time you didn’t believe I worked here? Which is dumb,”_ Misaki narrated, always holding his phone up and filming his way to the cabin. _“‘cause you came here twice, so what the fuck.”_

“... Idiot,” Fushimi muttered.

_“Okay, anyway, here we have the base. Base, Saru. Saru, meet the base,”_ Misaki boasted, his raucous voice brimming with mirth as he positioned himself right in front of the cabin, catching its façade on tape. _“_ _It’s a fuckin’ castle, man. When I first got here I was like — This? Really? Cool, it’s not a bunker but I can work with that.”_

_What an absolute idiot._

Fushimi couldn’t help cupping a hand up over his smile.

A _base_. Really. Nevertheless, something about Misaki’s words struck somewhere close to home, somewhere where he’d locked up a few fond memories from when he believed that some of the stuff he used to see in live-action movies was captivating.

Then Misaki brought the camera away, pointing it at the woods.

_“Ah, right, you wanted the bear,”_ he said, turning around his axis once. _“Ah, but it’s not there.”_ And turning again. _“To the west? Nope, no bear.”_ And again. _“South? Nope — wait! Ah, nah, it’s just a tree. Hey, that bush over there. It’s fuckin’ tall. Looks a bit blue on the sides, too, huh? You know what else looks all tall and blue?_ _Yeah, freakin’ peacocks.”_

The moment Misaki turned his pone around to film himself Fushimi froze up. If there was a reason why he didn’t do video calls, and this was pretty close to one in his opinion, apart from having no one to do it with, it was because of the unnecessary, intimate proximity. And while he wasn’t exactly partaking in it, he still felt the air get knocked out of her lungs as Misaki beamed at him — at the camera —, his radiant smile baring his teeth as if he’d been told the best news of his life.

_“Heh, by the way, we don’t have those here,”_ he kept talking, pointing a finger gun at the camera. _“See? Nothing to be afraid of, but I promised you I’ll keep an eye out for you, so...”_ He shrugged and brought his free hand to the back of his neck, the short sleeve of his t-shirt riding up and revealing the muscles in his arm shifting as he brushed his hair. _“I will!”_ Moving his hand up to his forehead, he waved Fushimi off with a salute and a wink. _“Yatagarasu, out!”_

Fushimi lowered his hand, staring at his phone dumbfounded.

The video stopped playing, but the last frame depicting Misaki’s salute and mischievous look kept taking up the whole of the screen, and Fushimi couldn’t pinpoint why that single image suddenly made him feel strangely jittery.

Three seconds later, the image automatically jumped back to the first frame of the video, and regardless of how amusing it all had been, all of the questions that had arisen in his head before he first heard Misaki’s voice converged into three simple words: _what was that_.

Without further ado, a big part of him still left with mixed feelings, Fushimi selected Misaki’s number and waited.

After a couple of rings, Misaki picked up.

_“H-hey...”_ Misaki’s voice faltered with hesitation, as if testing the waters. “What’s up—”

“That’s not what I gave you my number for.”

_“O-oh. You, uh... got my message!”_

“How can you be so calm about it?”

_“Heh, I just thought it might help you distract yourself a little. Too much cop stuff must be draining.”_

Fushimi paused for a moment, mulling over his answer. “It did.”

_“Hah, really?”_ Misaki perked up. _“I knew it!”_

“Yet I didn’t see you interviewing the bear.”

Misaki let out a snort, and then laughed, a genuine, loud, carefree reverberation ringing through Fushimi’s ears. Fushimi recoiled a little at the high-pitched timbre of his voice, which sounded much closer than in the video, but didn’t pull his phone away.

_“Hah, relax! I swear if I see something I’ll call you right away!”_

“Yeah, no. I don’t want you calling me when you see _something_. I need you to call me if you see it.”

_“That’s what I said. Hey, don’t treat them like that — like some ‘thing’. They’re living beings.”_

“Whatever. Call me when you see the—”

_“Hey!”_ Misaki ignored him. _“You should send me some pics of your place!”_

Fushimi raised an eyebrow. “Why?”

_“Well, you know my workplace but I don’t know yours.”_

“Your workplace,” Fushimi repeated. “I didn’t ask to know your _base_ , Misaki.”

_“Heh, isn’t it cool?”_

Fushimi clicked his tongue and rolled his eyes. “I can only imagine the mess you keep inside.” He leaned back in his chair, getting himself comfortable and bracing his ears for the imminent outburst.

_“Hey! It’s not a mess! And I need to keep it clean at all times!”_

“Oh, you do.”

_“It’s mandatory,”_ Misaki grumbled.

Fushimi smirked at being right. “Meaning it would be a mess if they weren’t all over you.”

_“Shut up. I bet it’s still better than all your cop paperwork.”_

“Hmph. I’ll give you that.”

The sudden silence kept them speechless for a short while, and only after a deliberate moment of thought, Fushimi caught himself still smiling.

The realization made his lips turn back down, and when he opened his mouth to speak, Misaki beat him to it.

_“All right. I’ll talk to you later... when I see the bear, right?”_

“Hm.”

_“Okay... bye!”_

Fushimi brought his phone down, ready to end the call, when he heard a loud gasp coming from the other side of the line.

_“Oof — asshole!”_ Misaki screeched.

“Misak—”

_“Watch where you’re going!”_

Fushimi kept quiet.

He wasn’t alone.

_“Chill, Yata! What, trouble in paradise?”_ The new, frivolous voice asking was laced with a small twinge of provocation. _“So, what’d he say?”_

_“Sh-shut up, Chitose!”_ Misaki yelled. _“It’s none of your fuckin’ business!”_

_Chitose..._

Fushimi mulled over the name he knew he’d read along with Misaki’s and, well, yeah, the rest of the mob that worked in the reserve as occasional helpers.

His ears then picked up on a faint rustle of fabric, and he figured Misaki must have tucked his phone in his pocket, obviously unaware that he hadn’t ended the call — that was the only explanation. Regardless, Fushimi could still hear their muffled voices, including the familiar pitch of Totsuka Tatara’s.

_Might as well bring the entire city..._

_ “I think it’s quite the opposite, actually.” _

_ “C-come on, Totsuka-san... are you sure this is gonna work?” _

_ “I don’t know, Yata. You practically told him he looked like a peacock.” _

_ “Fuck you, Chitose! I-I didn’t mean it like that!” _

_ “Well, I admit that was a bit unexpected, but an introductory video is still a great way to get people to know each other!” _

_ “I-I see... Thanks, Totsuka-san.” _

_ “Not really my thing. I prefer a more direct approach, but, hey, it worked for Kusanagi-san, right, Totsuka-san? With that cop girl?” _

_ “Kusanagi-san? What the fuck?” _

_ “Oh, right! Although it was an apology video. It seems he got into some trouble when he was abroad... That was quite interesting to watch.” _

_ “O-oh...” _

_ “Hey, Yata, how does he even look?” _

_ “E-eh? Uh... w-well...” _

_ “He’s a handsome person! Yata has a good taste!” _

_ “Y-you think so, Totsuk—” _

_ “Eh? Really? Well, Yata’s taste has never been my taste. Anyway, think a guy like you has a chance with him?” _

_ “Hah? A guy like—” _

_ “If he’s into guys — well, that’s one thing, but being into you is, like, another thing.” _

_ “Hah?! What’s that supposed to mean?! Okay, just get your ass off my zone, asshole, show’s over. And, Totsuka-san, thanks!” _

_ “Ah~ You sound like an old man, Yata — and here I thought a helpless beginner like you would need some real man advice.” _

_ “Sh-shut the fuck up, Chitose!” _

_ “Now, now, guys. Don’t fight.” _

Muffled laughter and farewells took over for a brief moment before their voices slowly faded away and into silence, merging with the sound of footsteps moving away through the forest floor.

The aftertaste of that bizarre conversation lingered even after Fushimi brought his phone down and ended the call. A flavor he couldn’t name engraved itself in his mind, if only because the discussion just now concerned _him_ and shut down the barriers in his head momentarily, stirring _things_ he’d been trying not to think about.

The nature of the exchange between Misaki and his friends was clearly one Fushimi wasn’t used to dealing with; he definitely wasn’t familiar to forms of flattery that didn’t have to do with his brains, so he found himself unable to produce any casual reaction to that.

_‘Think a guy like you has a chance with him?’_

What were they going about, deciding who he gave chances to?

The fact that that other Chitose-guy’s question actually left him debating whether Misaki was as _good-looking_ as he himself was deemed by Totsuka Tatara — or whatever his definitions of ‘handsome person’ and ‘good taste’ were — muddled him.

Misaki’s sudden coyness only strengthened that sentiment.

Maybe Misaki _was_ a good-looking guy, he'll give him that. Maybe his company wasn’t unpleasant, which said a lot and was a lot more than what he was used to admitting to himself.

And while half of him still felt as though he’d heard something he wasn’t supposed to but which still was unimportant enough to really care about, the other half deemed it important enough, prompting the unfamiliar jittery feeling from before to surge back through him stronger.

He pressed the cold case of his pone against his cheek.

_Damnit._

 

 

ʕ ￫ ᴥ ￩ ʔ

 

 

**[18:35] Yata:  
** but did u like the title

**[18:36] You:  
** It was terrible.

 

 

ʕ- ᴥ -  ʔ

 

 

The next day, exactly a week from having visited the heart of the reserve for the first time, both Munakata agreed on letting the case rest temporarily, since they had a few other matters at hand that could be resolved quicker with everyone’s assistance, and the current complaints didn’t seem to follow any studiable pattern to work with.

Fushimi started to think whoever filed those claims was someone that simply thought Scepter 4 had too much time to waste, or had too much time themselves. It wouldn’t be the first time they dealt with deceitful tidings, but when he’d quickly checked the identity of the two claimants, their records were clean, their criminal ties nonexistent.

So far, he’d only gotten two days worth of swollen feet, a week without any progress, and no whereabouts of the wanted animal.

Instead, he’d been inevitably compelled to make an improvised informant out of Misaki, one of the rather peculiar forest rangers from the reserve, and while he hadn’t contributed any _valuable_ information yet — as Munakata’s wholeheartedly suggested he would — he’d made sure to fill Fushimi’s inbox with rather _unsolicited_ information, such as the message he got from him a minute ago.

This time it was a simple picture. Misaki was wearing a red t-shirt and a purple puffy vest on top, and making a thumbs up gesture with the hand that wasn’t holding his phone.

The following day, on Friday, about an hour before the end of his shift, he didn’t get to read the first message that made it to his inbox, because it was immediately followed by another.

Ignoring the order, he went for the last one, a snapshot that had Misaki with a grin, doing the peace sign and winking at the camera, with a caption that read _‘Just here chillin @ the forest’_ , and a regular text below it.

 

**[18:13] Yata:  
** hey delete that other msg i sent u before this 1 ok i don’t look good in that pic!!

 

Fushimi raised an eyebrow, briefly wondering how Misaki looked like if he looked... decent enough here.

He couldn’t even begin to contemplate the picture for long, because then he was getting another text.

 

**[18:13] Yata:  
** PLEASE!! THX

 

And the curiosity as to what had triggered such reaction and what Misaki’s concept of ‘looking good’ was were stronger, nagging at him.

Ignoring Misaki’s request, he checked the first unread message anyway.

It was a snapshot, too. At first sight, it looked like an exact copy of the ‘good’ one, with the same angle, almost the same pose.

And that’s when he saw it, something he hadn’t seen in the other, at the bottom corner of the screen, behind Misaki.

He’d thought it was an abnormal extension of his oversized black t-shirt, but whatever it was, it was dark, furry and big, and it had claws, and it resembled a paw.

That _was_ a bear paw, all right.

_That bastard._

Fushimi’s chair recoiled back with a sharp thump as he planted his feet on the floor and stood up, yanking his coat off the back in the process. Deciding against calling Misaki right then in favor of seizing the surprise factor, he dashed out of his cubicle.

He met Akiyama halfway down the main corridor, nearly colliding against him on his rushed way out.

“Fushimi-san! My apologies,” Akiyama said, showing him the thin folder he was holding. “I was just looking for you, the Captain asked me to give this to you—”

“What is it?”

“It’s... there’s been another complaint.” Akiyama paused for a moment and stared at him, seemingly confused by the hurried posture. “Is everything all right?”

“Leave it on my desk. I’ll take care of it later.”

Fushimi didn’t wait for a reply; whatever Akiyama might have said was strongly eclipsed by his growing irritation as he threw his coat on and stormed out of the office.

This was personal, and someone was going to get an earful.

 

 

ʕ҂ ˋ ᴥ ˊ ʔ

 

 

When Misaki turned around, the tangerines nestled in his arms fell one by one by his feet, his arms going slack.

“H-hey, Saruhiko! I wasn’t expecting you—”

“Don’t play stupid with me.”

“Wh-what?”

“I need to take the bear into custody.”

There was a beat of awkward silence during which Fushimi forced himself to ignore the pedantic little voice at the back of his head that intoned to him _‘You just said that’_.

That brief moment of cogitation was interrupted by the snort erupting from Misaki’s somewhat more relaxed semblance — a forced one, though, as if he was trying to decipher if Fushimi was joking or if he really thought he’d hit the mark.

“D-did you hear what you just—”

“I won’t repeat it,” Fushimi resolved quickly with a little more bite to his tone, lowering his waist ever so slightly. The subtle, preliminary stance which readied his body to strike his opponent was perceptible only by people of Munakata’s caliber, and went unnoticed by any other common civilian, including the young man before him.

It wasn’t like he hadn’t considered taking the matter into his own hands. Even if Awashima’s orders limited him, his instinct resisted them. _But_ _he’s hiding something_ , retorted his mind as he pictured himself in an immediate future, moving his arm, reaching for his knife, his auditory nerves already conditioned to hear the metal imminently tinkling against his harness before his fingers even came in contact with the handle.

Part of him wished he didn’t have to, and that there wasn’t anything escaping him, at least just this time.

But he’d been made a fool of.

“I-I don’t know what—”

“Listen,” he cut Misaki off, ignoring the pretense. “We can do this the easy way, or your way,” he paused, reaching a hand into his coat and to his lower back, exuding intimidation.

That simple display alone must have set off all the alarms in Misaki, who raised his hands to his chest in a rather surrendering motion, and stammered, “O-okay, I-I get it, just let me explain—”

“Ten seconds.”

Misaki flinched, swallowing hard, all vestiges of his gleeful temper crumbling.

Fushimi really wished he didn’t have to, but he should have known better, that no matter how harmless people looked like, everyone had the potential to play him like a doll. He’d rather not feel _it_ , but the familiar sensation was there, welling up in his chest.

Disappointment.

For a moment, he thought Misaki was...

Decent? Worth a bit of the hassle?

At Misaki’s betraying silence, however, Fushimi clenched his jaw, forcing his voice into monotone numbness. “By order of the Tokyo Legal Affairs Bureau...” he mumbled out, the words struggling to form themselves, yet managing to come out pedantic, “... and for obstructing an official investigation, Yata Misaki, you’re under—”

“Wait!” Misaki cut him off midsentence with an exasperated look, taking a step forward. “She wouldn’t hurt anyone!”

“ _Don’t_ ,” Fushimi hissed, eyes narrowed into a glare. “You’ll only make this more difficult.” His nerves were strained, his fingers already twitching in annoyance.

Nearing a fit of unfettered irritation, he almost ignored the hoarse, low purr reverberating from somewhere around him.

There was a soft rustle of branches as the sudden, instinctive sensation of being watched by something getting closer became overwhelmingly vivid.

The abrupt realization had him freezing up, his eyes roaming about and landing on a blurred patch of pitch black fur emerging from their side, a little closer to Misaki’s.

His jaw went slack, dry lips cracking open. His heart turned a violent somersault before he felt it clogging up his throat and thumping against his chest at the same time.

He refrained from blinking, lest the motion attract more unsought attention from the massive shape slowly shortening the distance between itself and both him and Misaki — as well as their lifespan, while it was at it.

Fushimi stalled, trying to reason what Munakata could have possibly been thinking when he assigned him to this case. He’d never confronted animals, and was unsure of how to react.

Backup, sure. He definitively needed to call for backup. He should have before convincing himself that this was a personal matter. But first, he, _they_ , needed to be safe.

Was he to strike first? To tell Misaki to move? To stay still? _What_ was _he_ supposed to do?

His powerlessness over the situation urged in to find solace in someone else, and he found himself bringing his eyes back to the ranger, perhaps hoping he’d aid him in his indecision, or get the hint and do something, anything.

But the look Fushimi got in return baffled him. Misaki’s eyes were opened wide and shiny, intense as liquid amber and almost on the verge of tears but not quite. His expression was one of helplessness, and Fushimi vaguely registered how foreign it looked on him, unfitting of his exultant nature.

But what really threw him off was Misaki’s gaze never leaving his.

_Why are you looking at_ me _like that?_

Fushimi narrowed his eyes in wary skepticism; he should have been able to catch a glimpse of Misaki's emotions reacting to the obvious danger, just like he’d seen him react to many things before. But on the surface, Misaki’s body remained calm, _too calm_ , in fact, as if unaware of the furry body, probably about five feet tall when standing on its two legs, edging forward toward them.

As if between Fushimi and the black bear inching closer and now sniffing around Misaki’s boots and the few tangerines pooled around them, the former was the actual enemy.

_Why are you looking at me as if_ I was _going to destroy you?_

There was another low purr as the bear’s attention drifted away from Misaki’s feet and it raised its head, locking its russet brown eyes on Fushimi’s.

Fushimi’s first mistake was that not having thought of actually finding the creature. His second mistake was underestimating the situation, assuming it had been safe to let his guard down and trust someone else’s commitment.

He couldn’t afford any more slip-ups. He wouldn’t allow a third screw-up.

Quickly, he lifted one of his arms to shield his face and protect his head from a direct attack, the familiar flash of steel of the knife between his fingers streaking before him.

“Stop!” Misaki shouted, and a split second later Fushimi was fully aware of the redhead having pounced on him, and of the tight grip around his wrists, restraining his actions and keeping him from reaching the peak of his ability. When he briefly glanced at the constricting force limiting them and keeping his hands at his head’s level, he found thick fingers adamant to let go of him or let him maneuver his weapon.

Misaki was strong.

The sudden advance had made Fushimi recoil and step backwards, obliging him to take a moment to regain his equilibrium. Attempting to resist the onset, he planted his feet firmly on the ground, his body warring against Misaki’s weight and intention.

“What are you doing?!” Fushimi all but yelled, by then completely undeterred by the presence of the animal now a couple of steps behind Misaki and how his voice might affect it.

“D-don’t hurt her, please!”

“Let go of me, stupid!”

“Just listen to me!” Misaki vociferated, his grip never yielding. “It’s not what you think!”

“What the hell are you _doing_?!”

Fushimi didn’t know what unnerved him more; if it was the fact that Misaki pleaded him to listen but still kept his mouth shut, lips never moving to try to explain anything at all as he wrestled with Fushimi’s arms, or if it was the sudden hot, heavy breath damping the side of his face.

Tearing his eyes from Misaki alarmingly, he found that the bear had stepped forward toward them, _her_ sandy-beige colored snout dangerously close to Fushimi’s face.

Her shiny black nose twitched inquisitively as she sniffed the collar of his shirt.

He thought he saw a flash of blue as well, but he felt his blood ice up and his brain drained of thought when her jaw went slack to reveal the slightest yellowish glimpse of his long fangs.

Immobilized, he stared into those savage, brown eyes, without actually _watching_ anything but the lighter, reddish rays that started to look too much like blood. He almost got lost in them, with no thoughts roaming his head, only white specks of regret.

The moist, viscous thickness that slapped his cheek jolted him back to reality.

_What..._

“I’m gonna...” Misaki said tentatively.

Fushimi breathed deep and slow until his gaze regained focus and his eyes slowly darted back to the other, who was still biting his lips, but attempting a shy, reassuring smile.

Beside Fushimi, the bear stuck her tongue out and licked his cheek once more.

Misaki’s lips curled up further, as if containing a laugh. “I’m gonna let go, okay? Trust me.”

Fushimi frowned slightly, suspicion pulling at the corner of his eyes, but he managed a slight nod, noticing that despite the firm fingers still wrapped around his wrists, Misaki’s grip was actually loosening somewhat.

They both might have relaxed too quickly at the same time, because the next second Fushimi felt his knees wobble and was losing his balance and stumbling backwards. Misaki, who had been pushing his whole weight on him to immobilize him, was dragged along as well, tumbling headfirst into Fushimi’s chest. Both Misaki's forehead against his chest and the cushion of leaves and dirt softening the fall but still colliding against his back knocked the air out of Fushimi unceremoniously.

He experienced a brief moment of disorientation as he reopened his eyes, previously screwed shut. Upon recovering, he glanced over to the side, his instinct alerting him of the wild animal that was still there, but the bear only let out a hoarse growl akin to a whine and sat back on her haunches.

Fushimi frowned, noting how it somehow sounded as if she was laughing — if such thing was possible — while making herself comfortable at the pathetic human display before her. She might have decided they weren’t worth much of her time and began to groom one of her front paws, her curved, light-colored claws in plain sight.

Feeling a low vibration rumbling against his chest, Fushimi then directed his attention back to the tousled mane of fiery hair poking from beneath his chin.

“Ugh,” Misaki groaned again as he propped himself up and braced his knees on either side of Fushimi’s waist and one of his hands on the side of Fushimi’s head, bringing his other to his forehead to rub his furrowed brow, his eyes pressed shut.

Fushimi bit his lower lip, finding it dry.

This was _not_ the time, but the loose scoop neckline of Misaki's wide, black t-shirt hung low around his neck, revealing his collarbone and a bit of his toned chest.

Toned, for being just a forest ranger sitting around all day, that is.

(In fact, Fushimi wasn’t sure what Misaki actually did in the reserve, what with his cyclic energy and figure.)

Toned, because he’d had a taste of Misaki's strength firsthand, thus confirming that the shorter _wasn’t_ as small or weak as he appeared to be, being anything but puny.

But he owed Fushimi some explanation regarding the animal sitting next to them right as rain, and he had to do something about that, and about how cramped and stifling the air felt and how near their faces were, a mere breath apart, close enough for Fushimi to smell Misaki’s cheap deodorant mixed with eucalyptus and fresh grass, and not feel repulsed by it.

He bristled internally, finding the rumination utterly stupid — as if he hadn’t ever seen a bit of hideous skin that didn’t belong to him before, smelled something nice, etcetera. He wasn’t some excuse of a hormonal mess, and blamed the sudden self-conscious heat washing through him on Misaki’s ineptitude and the weight of another warm body on his, obviously.

Slowly, he felt his blood defrost, now flowing rapidly throughout him and rushing to his neck and face, in reaction to the start and the accumulated frustration and embarrassment due to the vulnerable position he ended up in.

Misaki was still rubbing at his temple. Seemingly recovered, he brought his hand down and opened his eyes wide.

Their gazes locked and held for a moment, rendering them both motionless.

Then Misaki blinked down at him, the faintest hint of a blush beginning to stain his nose and cheeks, his lips trembling slightly.

Fushimi felt the notion of vulnerability creeping back to him, as if Misaki could somehow have been delving into his mind just by staring at him, melting his bleak eyes with his more vivid ones.

But something like that was utterly absurd, and Fushimi relied on the fact that Misaki would probably soon have more important, _real_ things in his mind to take care of. They could only ignore the elephant in the room for so long, after all.

Or the bear in the reserve.

“S-sorry! I — sorry!” Misaki sputtered finally. Struck by their closeness, his hands jerked away from the patch of leaves beside Fushimi’s head, and he sat back abruptly, his thighs brushing against Fushimi’s without any finesse.

Fushimi clicked his tongue and looked away, taking advantage of Misaki’s bashfulness to speak up. “Just get off me,” he mumbled out as he pressed the flat of his hand against Misaki’s chest, none-too-gently pushing him back and off him.

Misaki didn’t complain or fight back, a mere ‘ _oof_ ’ slipping past his lips as his back hit the ground. Fushimi then rubbed the back of his hand over his cheek where the bear had licked him, and searched for his knife, which had fallen off his hand and lay on the ground beside him, and tucked it back into the holder at his waist before fixing his glasses, previously sitting askew on his nose, and brushing the dirt off his shoulders.

The bear perked up at the change of scenery, and slowly got on her four paws, inching toward them.

Fushimi tensed up on high alert.

But she stopped by Misaki’s side and stared down at him.

“I’m fine,” Misaki said. To the bear.

As if unconvinced, she brought her snout to his face, sniffing his cheek and prompting Misaki’s lips to curve up into a helpless little smile.

“Hey, stop it. That tickles,” Misaki protested, giving her enormous, furry face a gentle swat. The bear insisted, and he then raised both hands, attempting to push her heavy head away. “Lala, shoo!”

Fushimi stared at them in utter disbelief.

“What is _this_?” he dared to speak up as he pulled himself off the ground, his voice cutting through the sickeningly cloying atmosphere, unsure of which word to stress to better emphasize his unrest.

Misaki’s body tensed up before he slowly pushed himself up and onto his feet as well. He looked up at Fushimi from under his eyelids once, but quickly prompted his eyes away and faced down, suddenly unable to hold his gaze unlike a minute or so ago.

“S-sorry. I-I kinda wanted to tell you, but... I can explain...” he trailed off, rubbing the back of his neck.

Fushimi clicked his tongue, but unlike a moment ago, he didn’t interrupt him, willing himself to sound composed and slightly tolerating. “You already said that.”

Misaki’s face twitched, doubt etching in his features. It was obvious to see he was hesitating, even though there was nothing to hide anymore; he just had to decide where to begin to justify himself.

Fushimi stepped forward and inhaled deeply, poised to accelerate the process, when his phone started buzzing.

He clicked his tongue again, irritated by the interruption, and pulled it out to identify the caller, but the firm sound of footsteps rustling over the grass made him pause and look up instantly before he could answer.

Misaki was standing closer, his distressed expression somewhere between panicky and hurt. His fists clenched at his sides. “Don’t,” he murmured, voice soft but pleading, “don’t tell them.”

They stared at each other for a moment.

Then Fushimi looked down, the unceasing cyclic vibration in his hand reminding him that the Captain — as the caller ID said — wouldn’t wait for him forever.

Did Misaki realize he was asking Fushimi to act against the law? Moreover, even he had to have enough brain to understand it was better to answer than not to and arouse suspicion.

And for heaven’s sake, _what_ was up with that bear?

_Damnit._

Fushimi bit his lip, hating how conflicted he felt, mulling over _what_ to actually say to his boss in response to whatever he asked about.

Anxiety crept up his throat as his thumb hovered over the screen with indecision.

If he hadn’t let himself get so involved, then—

“Didn’t you _ever_ have something you wanted to keep from people because if they found out about it you knew they’d hurt it?!” Misaki lashed out, his voice unyielding, the most clear and tight Fushimi had ever heard him speak.

The particular closeness of that sentiment made him freeze up, his eyes growing wide and lips falling slightly open.

It was impossible to ignore the sting of those words and how close they hit home again, but somewhere darker, where instead of fond memories of spy bases and action movies, only dullness and jaundice lingered.

Of course Fushimi knew. Didn’t he used to know a man adroit at turning a deaf ear to his offspring’s discomfort and producing a twisted pleasure out of it?

Exhaling a shaky sigh, only then realizing his breath had gotten stuck in his throat, the tight knot that had hurriedly formed in his stomach when those particular memories were shaken loose began to relent little by little.

He glanced over Misaki’s beseeching eyes and at the bear sitting by his side, which was keeping herself entertained pawing insistently at the ranger's fist, as if trying to pry his fingers open to get the invisible treat inside.

Fushimi looked back up at Misaki, regarding each other with calcified looks. Misaki’s lips were parted slightly, showing a glimpse of his clenched teeth. His stance remained immutable, all traces of deference nonexistent, and his expression lacked anything resembling conformity.

Like in a staring contest, it felt like one was waiting for the other to yield first.

Fushimi grinded his teeth in disgruntlement, his throat closing up, and then exhaled a quick sigh, annoyed.

It was so very vexing to assume defeat.

He turned aside and swept his finger against his phone, swift and unstoppable like a pin against a balloon, and brought it to his ear before he changed his mind.

He registered Misaki taking a step toward him almost on instinct, feebly shaking his head no _._

“Fushimi.”

_“Oh, Fushimi-kun,”_ Munakata’s voice greeted him. _“I was wondering if I ought to have to send assistance.”_ A pause. _“I was informed you left in a hurry.”_ Silence. _“Are you in the reserve, perhaps?”_

Silence.

“Yes.”

_“Hm. My apologies.”_

Hesitance.

_“Were you in the middle of something?”_

Silence.

_“Do you need assistance?”_

Fushimi turned to Misaki, searching his face, finding it full of dread while the bear was still pawing at his arm, trying in vain to get his attention.

_“Fushimi-kun?”_

_Goddamit._

Fushimi frowned and clicked his tongue. “No. Don’t send anyone.”

As soon as the words left him, Misaki’s fists loosened considerably, and the bear at his side took the chance to sniff his open hand. Her curiosity quenched, she plopped back on her backside, seeming disappointed. The extreme opposite of that sentiment washed over Misaki’s face, relief lighting up his eyes and toying with the corner of his lips until he was close to breaking into a timid smile.

_“All right. Did you find any new clues?”_

_This man._

Fushimi turned around, tearing his eyes off the ranger. “No.” If anything, he was more disoriented than before. “Yes,” he quickly added, bringing his fingers to the bridge of his nose. “I’m taking care of it.”

Munakata hummed. _“I see... Inconsistencies in the evidence?”_

“Something like that... I’ll be back soon.”

_“Oh, that isn’t quite necessary, actually. I was just concerned about your unexpected departure,”_ Munakata said calmly, turning Fushimi’s statement down. _“I took the trouble to examine your progress — at this rate, you’re going to file away the reports that haven’t come in yet,”_ he commented amusingly. Fushimi clicked his tongue, disregarding the implicit praise in his boss’s observation. _“I still have a last meeting to attend, I can hear about your progress tomorrow.”_

“... Right,” Fushimi replied gingerly. “I appreciate it.”

_“Good work.”_

Well.

That wasn’t _too_ bad.

Fushimi hung up and tried not to think too much of the fact that there was only so much he could hide from his superior. Their conversation felt almost natural, and considering that Munakata _had_ given him free pass to move around as he pleased, if he could coax some answers out of Misaki, his ‘taking care of it’ and ‘something like that’ would truly become something he could deal with on his own without anybody else interfering. Munakata didn’t usually question his methods.

“Thanks.” Misaki’s voice made him turn. “For not telling them.” There was a vivid color high on his cheeks, like life had been breathed back into him at full throttle.

It somehow made something flutter inside Fushimi too, and the paralyzing sensations that had invaded him a few minutes ago to quell slowly. Clicking his tongue at his own reaction, he put his phone away and left a hand tucked into his pocket.

“Why are you smiling?”

“Eh?” Misaki’s smile deflated, taken aback. “Oh, um... I’m just... I’m sorry I didn’t tell you before...” He looked away, scratching his cheek. “Y-you’re a good person.”

“You assume too much of me.”

“W-well, doesn’t matter now, huh...”

“You told me there weren’t any bears.” Fushimi squinted, his eyes shifting from Misaki to the bear, and back.

Misaki breathed in sharply, then raised his index finger bashfully. “I told you there were no... bad bears,” he rebutted.

Fushimi glowered at him, and his body startled. He opened his mouth, but immediately closed it, biting his lower lip and glancing away from Fushimi’s gaze.

“I...” Misaki lowered his face, his eyes fixed on the ground and a frown between them. “I wasn’t sure that you’d listen to me if I...” Unlike a moment ago, when Fushimi was taken aback by his fierceness and persistence, his voice sounded strained.

Giving another tut, Fushimi ran a hand through his hair in an attempt to fix his disheveled look and summon some composure, and focused his attention to the animal near Misaki’s side, finding her completely unaffected by the shared aggravation between the two men.

At least they were safe?

Regardless, he could only take in Misaki’s look for a second or so before deciding how unsettlingly lethargic the mood had become; he almost preferred when they were grappling against each other, at least the air wasn’t this dense and Misaki’s words rang clearer.

He didn't have much of an option, now, did he?

Exhaling a long sigh, he headed to the cabin.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Misaki raise his head slowly, watching him with interest as he sat down on the front porch steps, one leg held straight and the other bent, his forearm resting on his knee.

Fushimi sought his curious eyes, and they held their gaze for a few seconds.

“I’m listening.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And to think this all came to mind because I wanted to write Misaki sending Saruhiko a selfie of him + a bear. And then the rest happened... orz
> 
> Also let’s say someone you find ~~fine~~ okay-ish insistently sending you selfies is super fun, ok.


	3. Cognition

“It was about a year ago. I had just started working here, and Lala was just a cub.”

Misaki reached out to pat the bear’s head, _Lala_ ’s, her body lying on the grass at the end of the stairs. Fushimi couldn’t really tell if she was napping, or just relaxed, but se rested placid and unconcerned under Misaki’s touch.

“We found her alone near their old den. The next day we found her parents.” Misaki paused, biting his lip. “Or what was left of them...”

Fushimi listened attentively, occasionally watching the bear’s reaction, or lack thereof. At Misaki’s silence, his eyes darted back to him.

“Hunters,” Misaki hissed, his expression turning sour. His other hand, resting on his lap, clenched into a fist. “They sneaked in at night. We couldn’t do anything. And that’s when the bridge was taken down,” he explained resentfully, chewing on his bottom lip, “and...”

Then, Misaki’s body relaxed and he took a moment, the corner of his lips quirking up.

“I don’t know. She got attached to me, I guess. When I realized it she was following me around everywhere I went.” He laughed airily, now scratching more vigorously behind the bear’s ears. For her, it was probably a caress.

“She had no one else. We even tried to make her fit in with the rest of the bears but it didn’t work. Maybe she just really felt left out.” For some reason, Misaki was smiling more openly now, like the concept of exclusion was a great thing. “What do you say, huh?” He patted her head, her ears twitching in response. “Sometimes you just gotta leave and do things your own way, right?” he asked softly, a rather elaborate statement coming from him, Fushimi noted.

He wasn’t sure it was a question aimed at her, though. It sounded like Misaki was trying to convince someone that wasn’t Fushimi or the bear.

Genuinely convinced that producing comfort in others wasn’t his specialty, Fushimi couldn’t think of anything to add.

(Although he should have seen something like this coming the moment he signed up for such a humanitarian organization.)

Instead, something in Misaki’s words reached his core, and as Misaki went on, his voice gradually overrode the annoyance that Fushimi had planned on discharging on him once his conversation with Munakata was over.

Misaki told him everyone was wary at first, but they eventually helped accommodate the animal. According to him, Fujishima, one of his coworkers, was thrilled. Totsuka even went as far as considering picking up apiculture just to test the all-bears-like-fresh-honey truism, and he would have if he hadn’t been stopped by some other guy named Kusanagi who seemed to have the most common sense out of everyone. It made sense, since he apparently didn’t actually work with them, but in a bar somewhere in the city. And Suoh...

In Fushimi’s opinion, Suoh simply didn’t give a fuck.

They all somehow managed to keep the bear under wraps from the public eye, which hadn’t been so hard considering the park wasn’t a recreation area to receive visitors, and the animals naturally avoided getting too close to the fence surrounding the reserve.

There was the issue with the demands though...

“What does she eat?”

“Fruits. Veggies. Bugs.” Misaki shrugged. “She finds her own food.”

“No meat?”

Misaki flinched a little at that, sensing what Fushimi was getting at. “No,” he said pointedly, and Fushimi sneaked a sideways glance at him. “She’s a totes vegetarian.”

“She has her instinct. She’s still an animal.”

“Bullshit,” Misaki spat, looking away.

Fushimi’s eyes flicked back and forth from Misaki and the bear lying at their feet, and for the umpteenth time he couldn’t help but find the scene a bit too whimsical.

Pinching the top of his nose, he settled for a long, heavy sigh. “How would you explain the attacks?”

“Hell if I know.” Misaki clicked his tongue, visibly irritated. “You’re the cops,” he mumbled out. Fushimi could see his lips pursing, his brow slowly furrowing.

There was a long silence.

“She didn’t do it... Whatever people are saying she did, she didn’t.”

“You don’t know,” Fushimi retorted, resisting the urge to roll his eyes. “You’re not with her all the time.”

“I _would_ know,” Misaki hissed. “And she just... she just isn’t like that. She’s friendly with everyone. She’s _good_. She’s not violent.”

“Misaki—”

“Well, where are they, then?” Misaki snapped, his voice low and laced with tension. He wasn’t meeting Fushimi’s gaze, looking down somewhere at the ground. “Hah? You saw anyone hurt? What’d she swallow first, huh? An arm? A leg? What’d they tell you?”

Fushimi refrained from replying to the sarcasm. Although while he didn’t appreciate Misaki taking his frustration out on him, if what he said was true, his apprehension was somewhat understandable, he supposed.

Misaki’s eyes softened then, and his expression slowly morphed into one of helplessness as he clicked his tongue and looked away again. “I just...”

Fushimi lolled his head back in contemplative reflection, staring into the crowns of the tall leafy trees splattered all around his field of vision. He’d been assigned to this case because he had some time for it, but he felt as if he’d somehow made the main issue bigger than it was.

It didn’t change the fact that the decision to keep a bear was utterly stupid though, but hurray for Misaki’s compassionate heart. A true ranger in all his splendor. And a complete idiot.

Sensing eyes on him, he looked back at Misaki. As if responding to the silent insult, Misaki was staring at him squarely, and Fushimi’s breath caught a little at the sly glint creeping into those big eyes and the corners of his mouth slowly edging up.

Then, he was grinning, bearing his canines.

Fushimi braced himself, narrowing his gaze. “What?”

“Wanna touch her?”

The offer had Fushimi’s lips parting, but the words stuck in his throat for a moment. “I already—”

“No, she _tasted_ you.”

And did Fushimi cringe at the memory of that tongue against his skin. “... I’m fine.”

“I’m kidding. C’mon, she doesn’t bite!” Misaki dismissed eagerly, bluntly grabbing Fushimi’s wrist and directing it toward the bear’s head, the motion so abrupt that Fushimi couldn’t react fast enough to pull away and was quickly being pulled toward Misaki, and feeling the soft, short fur between the bear’s ears under his palm.

Misaki snorted a chuckle through his nose. “You’re so pale.”

Fushimi glanced down. The contrast between the black fur and his skin was strikingly noticeable. “You don’t say.”

“You need more sun!”

He clicked his tongue. “And you need to grow up. Literally.”

It earned him a raised eyebrow. “Hah?”

“I said I’m surprised she didn’t think you were her meal,” he said, meeting Misaki’s confused look. “You’re about the size of a brick.”

“Wh-what does that have to—sh-shut up!” Misaki snarled, moving closer to him, imposing respect.

It caused the opposite effect though, and despite the sudden closeness, Fushimi found himself smirking, holding on to Misaki’s reaction. “Hmph. Did I touch a nerve?”

Misaki inhaled sharply, readying himself to retort, when the bear let out a low grumble. They both froze instantly; while Misaki remained mostly unaffected and more relaxed, Fushimi eyed her warily.

Her eyes had snapped open, and then she raised her head and opened his mouth to yawn prior to turning her head toward them both. Fushimi’s hand, which was still being held firmly by Misaki’s, caught her attention, and she raised to sniff it minutely, the hard, calloused surface of her nose and the warm puffs of air coming from it tickling the nerves under his skin. When she pulled away, after a moment of deliberation, she lied down and rolled on her side, satisfied.

Fushimi felt himself breathe out a sigh.

Misaki laughed lightly, making him turn back to him. “See? She’s good even with you.”

“Shut up.”

“Bet you’ve never seen a bear so up close like this, huh, Saru?”

“Why, Misaki? Did my fake zookeeper ID give it away?”

“Jerk,” Misaki snickered. “You shoulda seen your face back there.”

Fushimi clicked his tongue, shooting the other a disbelieving look and a halfhearted glare, his eyes lidded. Misaki had to be dreaming if he thought he wasn’t the one with the horrified looks.

“Speak for yourself. You’re still sweating.” It wasn’t a lie. Misaki’s fingers were still keeping a good grip on his wrist, and he could feel them beginning to get a bit clammy and warm through the elastic fabric of his wristbands.

“A-am not!”

“Are too.”

“Oi, I wasn’t—” Misaki raised his hand abruptly, and then his fingers were clenching tighter, as if striving to form a fist if it wasn’t for the flesh and bone they were wrapped around. His eyes widened a bit then, the realization making his gaze flick from Fushimi’s hand to his own, before he jerked his arm away, releasing Fushimi’s arm. “Uh, right,” he murmured, facing away.

Fushimi let his hand drop back to his lap, resisting the urge to touch where Misaki’s fingers had been.

The bear made another noise, and out of the corner of his eye, he saw her prop her head back, as if sunbathing, exposing her throat and something wrapped around her neck, and a flash of blue.

He thought he’d seen the glimpse of something blinking when they were face to face, but the pressure was another and he’d quickly forgotten about it. “What’s that?”

“What?”

Fushimi leant forward closer to the bear’s head. It was easy to misidentify the black collar as part of the plush fur around it, but its synthetic material was evident once one looked at it hard enough. It was just a centimeter wide, with no other definable features except for a small blinking blue LED light in the center.

And for Fushimi, that was definable enough.

“Her neck.”

Misaki tilted his head, following the direction of Fushimi’s gaze. “Oh, the collar? Mikoto-san gave it to her,” he explained. “So we can recognize her... well, the other guys. _I_ could recognize her from miles away,” Misaki went on, pointing his thumb to his chest with pride. “Not that there are any more bears, though...”

As Fushimi heard him boast, his narrowed gaze focused chiefly on the collar’s particularity. When he stood up and walked around the bear, Misaki’s smile faded to blink at him, watching in curiosity as Fushimi lowered himself on one knee next to the head.

“Just her?” Fushimi asked, now staring at him.

Misaki remained silent for a brief moment, but then his expression turned serious, no trace of hesitation or regret touching his face, and it was hard to distrust that look. “Yeah. I swear.”

Fushimi nodded, and turned back to the collar. Upon inspecting it closer, he felt his lips twitch.

Its distinct design was the same kind as many of Scepter 4’s high-tech monitor devices. At first glance, it looked like a tracker, which had been apparently modified to work as a collar, and not as the typical ankle bracelet. Its almost imperceptible safe lock made it impossible to remove without a special key.

Fushimi bent closer to the bear slowly, bracing himself for a reaction. There was none, and when the animal’s serenity reassured him...

_Bingo._

A reduced version of Scepter 4’s insignia was carved into the material, followed by a short series of numbers, which he immediately engraved in his memory.

“You said that man — Suoh Mikoto gave it to her?”

“Yup! Cool, right?”

Well, if it wasn’t an interesting turn of events.

Guess who was going to have a talk with his boss?

Fushimi found himself smirking, the premise of being close to actually file the case away providing him with a faint glimmer of hope. No more long walks through the forest. No more bugs. No more surreal interactions amidst them either.

His smile dropped a little, and then all the way down the instant he raised his gaze and realized that Misaki was still smiling back at him.

In reaction to his quiet, Misaki's eyebrows furrowed in confusion, but the rest of his expression barely wavered. “What? What was so funny?”

“Nothing.”

“C’mon, you can tell me—” Misaki paused, patting his pocket. “Ah?”

The muffled ringtone of his phone saved Fushimi from having to puzzle over why ending the case should have sounded, if not quite ‘funny’, appreciated at best, while his face showed otherwise.

Probably because he didn’t want to have any unfinished business that would nag away at him later.

That had to be it.

“Ah, gimme a sec,” Misaki murmured as he rose to his feet and stepped down the few stairs onto the ground, glancing at Fushimi quickly before picking up. “Sup, Kamamoto.”

_ “Ossu, Yata-san!” _

Fushimi flinched a bit at the greeting, noticing how the volume was higher than when he heard Misaki speak with his friend the first time. Unlike back then, he could almost hear the guy’s crackled voice over the earpiece now.

He could only imagine how loud his own voice sounded when it was him talking to Misaki with his two other friends around.

Of all the times to remember that...

Fushimi felt his cheeks heat up, and repudiated the memory of that conversation and its inopportune timing with a click of his tongue.

There was a brief silence as Kamamoto’s turn to speak came up, and then Misaki’s eyebrows and lips quirked up a bit. While the other’s voice soon simmered down, the Misaki's brassy one remained.

“Ah, you’re at that part, huh? No, it’s fine... I told you to call me, didn’t I?” Out of the corner of his eyes, Fushimi saw Misaki stealing a quick glance at him. “But, uh, make it quick. I’m kinda busy here...”

Awkward.

“Hah? What d’ya mean he isn’t there? No way!” Misaki sounded serious, frowning into space as Fushimi leant forward to stand up. “Well, yeah! You get him right after that. You gotta kill that guy!”

He halted halfway, raising an eyebrow, a bit baffled, before slowly getting back to his feet. Just when he thought he’d heard enough of how Misaki reacted on the phone, this _really_ took the experience to a whole new level.

Perhaps he really should have arrested him...

“What? I _told_ you,” Misaki continued with a disgruntled sigh. “Hades, who else!”

Hades?

Dreadful pronunciation aside, did he just say _Hades_?

“Yeah, you gotta save some kid at the coast! ... A woman? No, no, no — that’s another monster! Oi, listen to me, idiot, I’m telling you you have to save the kid and _then_ you get the red ball to summon him! Yeah, that, the Materia thing.”

_Ah..._

The more Misaki explained, the more confused Fushimi felt, yet the more familiar the scenario sounded all the same.

Video games[1]. They were talking about video games.

“Well, then you did something wrong!” The reprimand came out so loud, that the bear at his feet let out a low whine, and Fushimi exhaled heavily, sharing the sentiment.

Letting his head hang down, he brought a hand to his face, slipping his fingers under his glasses and pressing them to the corners of his eyes, disbelieving of what he was hearing, of the absurdity of having such a trivial argument over the phone, and the more Misaki insisted how wrong his friend was, the stronger the strange urge to educate him became.

“You have to be kidding... that’s Shiva, idiot, not Hades,” Fushimi muttered quietly, just above a whisper, galled at the things he had to listen to. Misaki spoke with such conviction, but what were the odds of letting the player use such a summon at the beginning of the game when most enemies were absolute weaklings? It made no sense. Not that Hades was the most powerful summon in the game, since he usually only caused status effects and no actual damage, but creatures like Shiva or Ifrit were always the earliest available summons, basic, elemental summons that would only deal elemental damage like ice and—

“What?”

Fire.

When he looked up, Misaki’s eyes resembled two small bonfires amidst the musky lush forest. Brilliant. Penetrating.

Fushimi felt his flesh freeze and scorch simultaneously. “What?” he repeated tentatively.

Misaki had his phone pressed against his shoulder, blocking the microphone at the bottom. “What was that you were saying, just now? That thing about elemental... ice, whatever.”

They stared at each other in watchful waiting, sharing wide-eyed looks, and Fushimi wished he would just disappear, let his self-consciousness finish eating him up and swallow him whole until not even the concept of him remained.

He looked away first, his neck growing overly hot.

“That’s... Shiva,” he said, only then realizing how dry his mouth felt. “You get Hades in the Gelnika.” His eyes peered up briefly at Misaki. “The sunken airship.”

Misaki’s mouth slowly hung open, but not a single sound came out.

Fushimi looked away again and stuffed his hands into his pants pockets, defensive and unable to hold his gaze.

“You have to get the submarine first.” As soon as his own words sank in, he immediately clicked his tongue, feeling embarrassed and eerily diffident with Misaki’s big, honey-flecked eyes on him, like he was being taught the most advances principles of quantum physics. “I was just saying,” he added with a little shrug.

Misaki’s reaction was only reasonable, wasn’t it? Who even bothered to remember such a bunch of useless information? How weird was that?

The world around them fell into an insufferable muteness once more, which Fushimi would have thought as lenient if his indiscretion hadn’t been the one to cause it.

A couple of seconds later, Kamamoto’s voice began to pick up volume, and Misaki seemed to sober up at that, taking his phone back to his ear.

“Uh... Kamamoto, you have the submarine? ... No, no, the subma—no, never mind. I’ll call you later.”

And he rang off.

There was another beat of silence, and Fushimi psyched himself up for a derisive something.

“You know that game?”

But when he turned to Misaki, the ranger simply broke out into a huge smile, like he suddenly discovered something, like all that quantum physics was suddenly child’s play.

“The mobile remake?” he added, waving his phone between them.

“Looks like it,” Fushimi said with a shrug.

“Wow...” Mischief danced in Misaki’s eyes as he pocketed his phone. “You have a life.”

“As if retaining a bunch of nonsense could be considered ‘having a life’,” Fushimi refuted with a weak roll of his eyes. There was only so much he could distract himself with. Video games and forums were decent pastimes. How his brain decided to transmute what he gained from them into usable skills was beyond him.

Misaki snickered. “Are you kidding me? I wish I knew all that — all that stuff about the summons and those static effects. That’s sounds crazy complicated.”

“It’s... ‘status’.”

“Hah?”

“Status effect.”

Misaki tipped his chin down in a ‘ _Really?_ ’ gesture, his lips curling at the sides. Facing away, Fushimi brought a hand to his neck, tugging lightly at the open collar of his shirt and fiddling with the fabric.

“And it’s supposed to be complicated, anyway.” He paused, glancing over at Misaki, who was looking at him with rapt attention, eyes wide as spoons. “Didn’t keep you from getting the submarine, though.”

“Uh... actually...” Misaki hesitated, taking a hand to the back of his neck, his eyes darting to the side. “I don’t know what this submarine you’re talking about is...” He looked up then, bashful.

“But you got Hades,” Fushimi half-asked, curious.

“Ah, yeah! You’re right — I still got him! Lucky!” Misaki perked up, forming two fists in front of him. “I bet he’s the best summon in the whole game! And I didn’t even finish it!”

“... He isn’t, actually,” Fushimi said quietly, unsure whether to needle Misaki’s inflated illusion or not.

“You kidding? All the strongest summons use fire!”

Fushimi looked on, confused. “Fire? Hades?”

“Yeah! You know, the big muscly guy with the big horns,” Misaki insisted as he raised his arms to his head and drew the shape of two imaginary horns with his hands. “That spits fire?”

Horns. Fire. “That’s... Ifrit.”

“Hah?”

“Ifrit. The fire summon. Not Hades.”

Misaki just stood there, eyes wide and expression frozen with his mouth dropped halfway open in a way that Fushimi could only describe as flabbergasted.

“Ifrit. Right.” He lowered his fists and relaxed, giving a soft smile. “Wow... you know a lot about this. I wouldn’t have imagined.”

“They tend to use the same summons in most games.” Fushimi shrugged. “When you play through all of them, you get used to seeing the same old pattern.”

“You finished this one, too? It just came out two weeks ago!”

“No, not the remake. The original.”

“Oh... I’m stuck at the part with the glacier,” Misaki said bashfully, moving a hand up to cup his nape. “Shit got too complicated at one point.”

Suddenly, he perked up and gasped silently, like the most brilliant idea just flashed through his mind.

Fushimi was starting to recognize that pattern too, and what usually came afterwards.

“We should play together next time! It’s easier to take on stronger monsters with more players!”

“What?” He stilled, a bit taken aback. There would be no next time. His presence at the reserve was no charitable visit, and after he archived the case for good, he’ll have no reason to come back.

“I mean, if you have time... you must be having a lot of work because of... all this, right?” Misaki added, rather shyly, and there was a guilty look in the eyes that had previously brimmed with expectation.

Well, even _if_ he had time and he’d become acquainted with some of Misaki’s coworkers, other than him it wasn’t like he’d clicked with all of them, unless ‘more players’ meant with just Misaki alone.

The fact that he was even considering the offer baffled him a little.

No, that wasn’t all.

Maybe he was curious about how Misaki and video games got along.

Maybe he wanted to know what happened if he threw himself into that equation.

His attention broke with the sound of soft crunching of grass, and as he turned toward it and saw _Lala-the-bear_ , like she just came out of a children’s musical, moving to sit up and reach for one of the tangerines that Misaki had dropped earlier, he also looked back on the last couple of days.

Yes, he was curious about that, too.

And if he remembered that he’d seen a domesticated bear, and a bunch of eccentrics as rangers; and that he’d been none too subtly compared to a peacock; and even that someone like his boss existed; and even that out of all his skills, something as ridiculous as knowing too much trivial information about something useless could be rewarded, too... then things weren’t actually so strange, and despite himself, he couldn’t find it in his heart to prick through Misaki’s puffy invitation.

Moreover, the notion that he’d _clicked_ with someone so quickly felt just so unfamiliar that he wasn’t sure if reacting the way he usually did when he did not fit could provide him with any sense of security in a brand new situation where the slightest bit of him felt that... maybe he did.

But he wasn’t able to give in just so little time.

Speaking of time, he’d rather not drive during peak hours, and sparing the other a last glance, he voiced his resolution.

“I have to go.”

“Hah? Where?” Misaki stared at him for a brief moment, and when the insinuation seemed to sink in, a hint of that hurtful expression from before returned to his face. “Oh, right... wait, you won’t... tell them, right?” His voice trembled a little.

Fushimi mulled over his response. “I have to fix this somehow,” he said, neither agreeing nor denying.

His instinct made him give a formal, small nod, and then he turned, ready to pad his way through the path he’d come from.

“Saruhiko.”

And then he stopped, feeling a light tap on his back.

When he looked at Misaki over his shoulder, he quickly lowered his arm and struggled to meet Fushimi in the eye.

“I... I’m sorry.” He sounded sincere, even if Fushimi couldn’t tell if he was apologizing for having lied to him or if it was an attempt to persuade the officer not to tell on him, regardless of his duty. “Hey... what’s going to happen to her?” he asked quietly, like he didn’t really want to.

Fushimi remained silent for a moment, but the reassurance slipped by on its own with him being unable to stop it. “She’s going to be fine.”

He glanced toward the bear near the stairs and back to Misaki, who had muttered a hushed ‘ _Yeah_ ’ and averted his eyes, looking down, lids growing heavy. His lips were tensed, struggling to lift and form a smile, yet the motion looked forced.

It just wasn’t in Fushimi to inspire comfort in others, but seeing how little Misaki’s expression had changed even after he went out of his way to offer some subjective assurance left him with a feeling of emptiness.

Just what other kind of encouragement did Misaki need to have his spirits uplifted?

He looked happy when he was talking about video games...

This was strange.

But for all his reluctance, the words escaped his mouth rather easily.

“I can help you with that part.”

Misaki looked up, his eyes growing bigger with interrogation.

“The glacier dungeon. I’m way past it,” Fushimi added with a shrug. “She can watch if she wants to.” And felt a bit stupid saying that.

He didn’t know if it was because Misaki figured he might get some help or if Fushimi’s ridiculous input caught him so off guard that he was suddenly staring at him wide-eyed, his lips turning up very slowly until his cheeks rose so high it made his eyes squint up.

The way his nose scrunched up was like the definition of something winsome.

“Yeah!”

And that settled it.

Exercising ridiculous skills could be rewarded with this, and it was a strange thing.

 

 

ʕ  ˙ᴥ˙  ʔ

 

 

He hadn’t reported back to Munakata right away, wanting to gather all the information he deemed necessary and discard any ‘but’s and ‘if’s by himself first.

The last report lay on his desk like he’d asked Akiyama to leave it, but as his fingers glided over the keyboard, he barely skimmed over it.

It was simply illegible.

If he had known Domyoji was going to be back to the office from fieldwork so soon, he would have personally pushed more cars into the river himself.

As if being handwritten wasn’t bad enough, _‘wham!’_ and _‘super ginormous!’_ were just not acceptable terms to describe bear sightings.

In a fit of capricious haste and not feeling like losing his time deciphering what his coworker’s words could possibly mean, he ignored Domyoji’s report. Instead, as he browsed through the reserve’s specific ordinances and legislation acts, he found there was no statute that provided that bears were restricted to inhabit anywhere else that wasn’t the island where their den had been relocated.

Well, Misaki was just one lucky guy.

Fushimi kept reading, and basically, the warden team was more than capable of handling the animals — right — and that included responding adequately according to the creatures’ reactions toward any kind of exigency.

Well, Misaki _did_ say they tried making her fit in with the rest of her kind, and if Fushimi was to take a moment to figure out what their concept of ‘trying’ or ‘fitting’ was he was never going to finish, so he decided to believe that.

What was left to resolve was if any animal had left the reserve, hence a human negligence.

He doubted it.

Exiting the folder with the reserve’s documents, he then accessed their monitoring software, and upon finding that the empty field to complete and identify monitored subjects in their database held the same amount of numbers that he’d seen in Lala’s collar, he frowned at the coincidence, not knowing whether to pay more attention to the part of him that felt actual surprise or to the tiny voice that muttered ‘ _I knew it_ ’ and nurtured the little suspicion at the back of his mind.

Willing his curiosity to remain skeptical, he typed out the serial number he’d previously stored somewhere in his memory, expecting to find himself shaking his head as soon as he hit enter and saw a red cross next to the ID field signaling there were no results to show.

There was no red cross, but a green check mark instead.

He still shook his head no, and breathing out a deep sigh, he dropped the weight of his back against his chair.

Another tap on the keyboard brought forth Scepter 4’s tracking system loading and working its magic for a couple of seconds until a map came up on the screen.

_‘Of course it’s a map of the reserve’_ , the little voice in his head hurrayed.

And of course the _subject_ was inside the reserve, and of course Lala was the only individual in sight whose movements were being tracked and refreshed every five minutes.

The information spread out before him connected all the nodes in his head.

The buzzing of his phone startled him slightly, and he was reminded that Misaki still had his number when he saw he’d gotten a text from him.

 

**[20:43] Yata:  
** so?? howd itg o?? nothings gonna happen to her right??

 

_‘Can you learn to spell?’_ hung on the tip of his fingers. Upon a moment of reflection, he found no better words than what he’d told Misaki earlier — not that he didn’t mean them before, but this time, the objectiveness in them was resolute.

 

**[20:44] You:  
** She’s going to be fine.

**[20:45] Yata:  
** u arent just saying that?

**[20:45] You:  
** As long as you keep her inside like always, she’s good.

That should do it.

And it wasn’t exactly a lie. He didn’t have any authority over the final resolution, but there was a reason she had a tracker. And not just any tracker, but theirs.

**[20:46] Yata:  
** really??? great!! leave it to me! thanks!!

**[20:46] Yata:  
** o(^▽^)o

**[20:46] Yata:  
** she’ll be so happy!!

 

Misaki’s energy was kind of contagious, and Fushimi could almost envision him and Lala high-fiving each other, but as he glanced at the hour on his phone, his smile sagged.

He was way past his shift and Munakata hadn’t passed by his workstation, but if he was done with all his daily meetings, Fushimi had a chance to find him still at his office like every other night.

 

 

ʕ = ᴥ = ʔ

 

 

“Fushimi-kun,” Munakata greeted from his desk as Fushimi closed the door behind him and approached him, a digital tablet in his hands. “It’s past working hours. I didn’t expect you to stay this late.”

“It’s about the attacks,” Fushimi announced without roundabouts, watching his boss’s attention perk up and his fingers interlock under his chin.

“Oh? I’m all ears, then.”

“Lala,” he stopped, clearing his throat, “the bear appears to be harmless.”

“I see. Are you absolutely certain of that?”

Eluding Munakata’s question, Fushimi carried on with a soundless sigh. “There aren’t supposed to be any bears in the main stretch of the park, since they had been presumably relocated, but their presence there is not exactly illegal per se. It’s only one bear, though.”

“True. It is a natural reserve, after all.”

“There hasn’t been any human negligence on behalf of the warden team, either. It seems they were well prepared to handle the animal.” Fushimi tilted his chin down, looking at his boss from under his lashes and rousing a suggestive glint in his eyes. “But I think you’re already aware of that.”

Munakata hummed softly in approval. “I wouldn’t expect less of a team of qualified people.”

“That’s not what I mean.”

Munakata’s eyebrows quirked up just the slightest bit, curiously. “What do you mean?”

“Are you saying you don’t know how Suoh Mikoto got access to our equipment?” He didn’t bother to hide the tiny note of sarcasm in his voice and faced his boss long enough to see that composed smile turn a bit wry. “That man was okay with it,” he said, looking down at the tablet in his hands defiantly, pretending to skim over lines of text, unaffected by Munakata’s stare. “He even aided in keeping her — that bear.”

The room went quiet for a moment.

“A reckless attitude,” Munakata said. Fushimi wasn’t sure whether he meant Suoh or himself.

“The tracker was a clever solution, though.” He gave a slight shrug and looked back up, just in time to see the corners of Munakata’s lips twitch.

“A subjective alternative, I must admit.”

The constant reflection made it feel like he was apologizing for something. If Fushimi had been actually vexed, he would have appreciated the gesture more, but he felt there was no need to.

“If you think so — still, could have saved me some trouble if I had known about it. It wasn’t in my plans to get mauled by an actual bear.” At that, his boss’s eyebrows shot up ever so slightly in an amused manner, like asking for more. Fushimi clicked his tongue. “I wasn’t.”

Munakata’s look mellowed. “Before you ask, I did monitor her activity, but I trusted that your objective presence there might still change something.” He lightly shook his head. “Well, the possibility of more than one animal causing trouble was also plausible, and I reckoned some might have been unwilling to cooperate if they knew about our tracking system.”

“It was only one bear, though, and I wouldn’t have mentioned it,” Fushimi remarked, and came back to what Munakata had said before. “I didn’t notice anything unusual. Civilians, trespassers...”

“I see.” Munakata hummed in thought. “And how is she?”

Fushimi shrugged. “She looked fine.”

“That’s good.” Munakata held his gaze for a second before closing his eyes pensively, exhaling a deep sigh through his nose. “When I attempted to ask for his help, he brushed my concerns off. He sounded rather at peace with himself. It was infuriating,” he admitted despite his unyielding expression, stance ever so poised. If he truly felt annoyed, it didn’t quite show, but Fushimi found the reaction mildly interesting as the menacing figure of the seemingly much older redhead flashed back to his mind; so, there _was_ a man whose behavior the Captain couldn’t deal with. “But I guess he has the utmost trust in his crew, and he wasn’t exactly wrong.” He sounded disbelieving, as if the very thought both amused and irked him.

“Well, if there was any danger they would have been the first to be affected by it,” Fushimi added, and then mumbled out through semi-closed lips, “Qualified or not, they don’t look like they can do much, honestly.”

A small laugh escaped his boss at that. When he opened his eyes, something in them seemed to have softened. “I’m glad to hear there doesn’t seem to be any considerable danger. As I mentioned, I had a slight hunch about this particular situation, and the fewer forces I’d deploy, the better.”

“Still...” Fushimi clicked his tongue and looked away. “You could have told me I would be dealing with a person like _that_.”

“Hm?”

“Suoh Mikoto... knew me, or something.” His face turned into a sour scowl at the reminder. The way Suoh had approached him hadn’t been exactly hostile, but he certainly gave off the wrong ‘calm’ aura, like that of the eye of a tornado.

Hell, he left his post because _the cicadas there were noisy_.

“I take it you’ve observed his demeanor firsthand,” Munakata provided calmly. “I might have mentioned to him that I would be sending one of my men to take a look. It was my understanding that he had a young apprentice.” Attention piqued, Fushimi looked back up. “I thought you would be the best suited to interrogate them, since the bear was apparently under their care. Was I not right?”

Misaki.

Fushimi couldn’t help but raise an eyebrow questioningly. “What made you think that?”

“Call it intuition.”

“Intuition,” he deadpanned.

“The technical term would be _affinity between age groups_ ,” Munakata happily elaborated. “Recent obligations I’ve been partaking in aside, I’m afraid that today’s youngsters’ dynamics are something I can no longer replicate. I simply lack their rhythm.”

Fushimi’s lips parted to speak, but immediately pressed together in a tight line — a more polite reaction than letting his jaw drop.

Honestly, his boss’s intelligence was held in high regard, but moments like these made Fushimi doubt the verity of that mythical aura he was shrouded in. How half the things that left his mouth were things only he could think of and voice with such immovable conviction was beyond Fushimi’s comprehension.

This was the very same man that claimed that miscommunication was a horrible thing.

Well, whatever. Figures Munakata wouldn’t leave him to meet his demise by the hands — claws, fangs — of an actual, bloodthirsty animal. Even Fushimi deserved a better end than that.

After a quiet pause, Munakata spoke again, his tone more serious. “I apologize if my assumptions delayed your investigation, Fushimi-kun.”

“It’s fine.”

He had to move on, didn’t he? With that observation in mind, his thoughts drifted toward the few times he’d been there, amidst bushes and trees, juggling with all kind of different sensations.

It was a new experience but... it wasn’t like any of that had brought him any kind of actual gut-wrenching suffering.

Pushing the reminiscence away, he carried on. “Since no signs of trespassing were observed in the subject’s tracking history, I’m going to look further into the complainants’ testimonies — something’s still out there.”

“Hm. Very well. I had Enomoto-kun classify all the recent claims. He can facilitate you their—”

“I already asked him,” Fushimi interjected, reflexively pushing his glasses up his nose, a tinge of satisfaction swelling within him as he watched Munakata’s eyebrows rise up slightly and his everlasting sedate expression shift into a look of unexpected regard.

As he flicked a finger across the screen of the table, the information he’d been looking at was minimized and gone.

“That’s all,” he said, lowering his arm, the device resting between his hand and hip.

Munakata leaned back with a smile. “That’s just enough.”

 

 

ʕ ´- ᴥ -` ʔ

 

 

Fushimi had gotten a few more texts from Misaki later that night, after leaving Munakata’s office, and had very patiently — and had to reward himself for that — told the ranger to _calm down_ , for he was going to keep him updated, and Misaki had more or less understood that everything had gone more or less okay.

In any way, texting him without end would do absolutely nothing at that point. There wasn’t much he could do but to wait after asking Enomoto to tell Domyoji to rewrite his report into something more lucid before transferring it and the rest of the claims to his e-mail.

And it had been enough fieldwork and staying after hours for a day.

Not that he wasn’t used to the aftermath of rough operations and the sensation of cold sweat mixed with thick fatigue sticking all over his body, engulfing his senses but never stopping him from pushing on if he wanted to. However, after stumbling into the shower and shaking the crisp feeling of dirt and soil off his body, he had to admit his bed felt incredibly appealing right then.

Saturday morning greeted him with the smell of fresh rain, the rattle of the blinds being buffeted by gusts of wind, and the hazy realization of having slept in, despite the climatic disturbance. Normally, he would have deemed it a nuisance even if it was his day off, but he didn’t, and he was thankful that Enomoto hadn’t contacted him during those extra minutes of somnolence.

On the other hand, he’d been wondering why his mailbox was still void of any new messages an hour into Enomoto’s and Domyoji’s shift, until an incoming call halfway through an attempt of breakfast had him frowning at his phone, readying himself for whatever news awaited him.

_“Fushimi-san.”_ Enomoto’s voice was wary. _“It’s about the reports.”_

“What about them?”

_“It’s... the servers... they’re under maintenance.”_

Just great.

“Do we store _everything_ online?” he asked begrudgingly, already knowing the answer.

_“Well, we’re connected to the National Security networks, so... y-yes.”_

“What about Domyoji’s report?”

_“Um, he was almost finished but...”_ Enomoto hesitated. _“The servers shut down before he could load it on the net... b-but he’s rewriting it right now!”_

Fushimi let out a sigh, his eyelids falling heavily, and complained to himself in a low murmur, almost like a whisper, “I should have done it last night.”

_“F-Fushimi-san?”_

“Nothing. Please send everything to my e-mail as soon as you can.”

Upon hearing Enomoto’s assent and apologies for the trouble, he hung up and leaned back in his chair, heaving out another long sigh.

He’d planned on expanding the complainants’ contacts again, looking for matches on their database, rereading their testimonies, but it all happened too fast. He usually didn’t bother to take work home when he could access their computers from everywhere else, let alone if it was such an arbitrary case, and he certainly didn’t consider taking Domyoji’s report with him.

(That thing was handwritten. Just no.)

But he had nothing right now. Not that he couldn’t _try_ to sneak his way into the servers of the Japanese National Security system, but he wasn’t paid enough to do so, let alone on his days off.

No, that wasn’t what he was supposed to be doing on his days off.

He wondered if Misaki worked at the reserve on the weekends.

Breakfast was over in a blink of an eye. Minutes and hours slid by, and afternoon found him on his computer, focused on his pastime-slash-side job of sorts and withstanding a gentle growl in his stomach which he disregarded in favor of looking for missing closing tags and other common mistakes until he was satisfied with the long chunk of code on his screen.

(The young client that looked about his age but spoke like he was a man out of his time had been very strict about wanting visitors to experience the ‘otherworldly greatness of his mentor’s voice’ as soon as they accessed his website. Fushimi had managed to make him understand how intrusive and non-amiable that was, and they had agreed on arranging the audio files into a grid by date and title.)

Honestly, he just wanted this one job to be over as soon as possible. He really didn’t need to hear another soliloquy about how superb the guy’s mentor and his haiku were.

He wondered what kind of people Misaki had to deal with.

Was he supposed to be busy now? He hadn’t texted him yet, and he was usually the first of the two to contact the other.

That simplistic thought drove him to look away from the screen. Leaning back, he bent his leg and prompted a foot on the seat of his chair. His body relaxed, despite the strained position, and his attention switched to the phone on his desk. Resting an elbow on his knee, he held the device with a bored look as he slid his fingers across the screen, browsing through the few names on his contact list until Misaki’s came up.

Animals. Misaki dealt with animals. Were they all animals, though? Despite the few episodes of mortification he’d been through, Fushimi could tell he looked pretty sociable, at least with the rest of the people he worked with.

His coworkers. Were they all odd? What did Misaki like about them?

_‘Yata has a good taste!’_

What was there to like about himself?

No — why did he have to remember _that_? They barely knew each other. Were they both really that frivolous?

The moment the screen of his phone went black and he was met with his own reflection he found himself staring at it for a moment, startled, and immediately looking away with a click of his tongue.

Lidded eyes. Small, grayish rings beneath them. Plain skin. Whatever he had, Misaki had none, or more. More energy. More color. More blush. More lips. And that was only on a superficial level.

Fushimi couldn’t help a sigh; it felt as if he’d finally caught a breather, yet he still found his mind diverting back to all of that.

It was to be expected, though. Yesterday had been kind of crazy.

_Something to keep from people, and someone who will hurt it..._

Those simple words had caught him off guard as well, rousing a remembrance of the acidic aftertaste that weighed on him like oil every time he had no one to hear his side of the story and was ultimately rendered unable to protect the few things that mattered to him.

Hearing them from someone else felt like validation, the warmth of a hand patting him on the back and whispering, soft and reassuring, _‘Same here’_.

It wasn’t relief, wasn’t too far from it either. He almost succumbed to that slippery weight, almost felt himself in the skin of the guy whose blood he shared, until he saw himself in Misaki’s pleading expression. And then the peeling had slipped off him, and the breach between it and himself widened, not quite when Misaki’s desperate words reached him, but when he found himself wielding his knife with unfamiliar restraint, his disposition wavering, as if his subconscious knew better and was highly aware of how _wrong_ the thought of charging at Misaki was.

And it felt like a step forward. Or a step farther from where his past stood.

Although he’d learn he was never in real danger — courtesy of his boss’s fixation with keeping certain information to himself — it still felt like an accomplishment. It was nice.

The fact that he was willing to admit that the aftermath hadn’t been so bad, either, stunned him.

And the _strain_. Because there was a strain, between Misaki and him.

He’d felt it, somehow let it dragged him along, obliging him to fall into Misaki’s rhythm without realizing it.

The same strain had stretched so thin, that he might have been able to cut it with the tender edge of one of the small leaves that remained stuck to the back of his coat after his body hit the grassy ground.

_‘Think a guy like you has a chance with him?’_

_Again._

He felt his cheeks heat up a little.

Despite everything, out of all the things that’d managed to make an impact on him, one was already crawling back into his eyes before the others.

The whole concern about a big, menacing animal standing just millimeters from him, which was settled, in essence, was nothing compared to how rapidly he felt his pulse beat, how close that flushed face had been to his own. _That_ wasn’t quite settled.

Misaki had been so close, that Fushimi could still see him, summon him in front of him, the soft contours of that face, pink lips and cheeks contrasting with the plain black screensaver of his phone.

But it wasn’t just the physical angle.

(It was hard to ignore, though. That physical attractiveness had struck him the very first moment he saw him, and intensified with the glances, the pauses, the looks of incomprehension.

He _felt_ it, when something met his standards.

His inability to deal with it when it was pushed right into his face was another entirely foreign subject.)

Maybe he was superficial, after all, but it was the little tug-of-war too, much different from dealing with Fuse’s straightforward remarks, or Domyoji’s idiotic comments, or Hidaka’s friskiness.

Misaki was just easy to be around.

Even in the way he approached Fushimi when he wasn’t near; it was just so easy to imagine him typing out hasty responses, with his back hunched and the subtlest tension across his mouth, or mumbling out a tiny curse when he realized he’d sent a blank message.

The mere thought of it made Fushimi’s lips twitch.

He didn’t notice, until he brought his eyes back into focus and the face mirrored on the black screen of his phone became clearer, and his own reflection caught him smiling.

A warm prickle tickled the skin below his ears and the fine hairs on his nape curled up before he was suddenly fully aware of how hot his face felt.

Started by his own look, he battered the frontal button on his phone more times than necessary to wake the screen up, and Misaki’s contact details came up one more time. Almost unthinkingly, he opened the ranger’s last message to reply with a new one without actually knowing what to tell him.

The little voice whispering _‘Focus’_ sounded all too familiar.

He recalled having told Misaki he’d let him know when he had any news, but he hadn’t gotten any from headquarters yet.

And nor from Misaki.

Fushimi frowned, both at the lack of new messages and the fact that unless it was work-related and he had to compulsorily respond to them, he had no idea how to start one so casually.

_Just saw a discount coupon for the zoo—_

_The wind was so noisy it reminded me of you—_

Lame.

Now he remembered why he didn’t know when the last time he’d resorted to excuses was; he was just _bad_ , and the actual effort of summoning pretexts was even more exhausting than facing the situation honestly.

He knew he could begin with pouring some kind of vague reassurance though, a simple _‘Everything is going to be fine’_ or something that wasn’t too panic-inducing. That was what mildly decent _cops_ did, right? Provide people with a sense of safety?

Allowing that simple notion to propel him, he was able to regain a brief moment of concentration and quickly type out some words and send them before his initial dubiety began to eat at him.

The lack of an immediate reply left him... wondering.

He sent another — _‘But it’s still going to take some more time’_ — just for good measure.

But about two minutes later, he still got no response.

Perhaps, unlike him, Misaki did have a life.

Misaki might not be even available to talk. He might be out there enjoying a rather windy and damp Saturday afternoon with his real _friends_ , a circle Fushimi wasn’t part of, not that the thought evoked a little pang of something inside him, warring with the critical side of his brain that told him he wasn’t supposed to care, no. Trust took a lot of time to build. He might be still in bed, sleeping a hangover away, with his arms wrapped around someone else—

But just as Fushimi was about to place his phone down, he felt it buzz in his hand.

It startled him, and his fingers paused over the screen for a moment before he became aware of how stupid his indecision was, and then he picked up, slightly irritated at himself for that. It wasn’t like he hadn’t talked with Misaki like this before.

He just wasn’t aware of how jittery talking to Misaki suddenly made him feel.

_Ugh._

Whatever.

_“Hey, sorry,”_ Misaki breathed out immediately. _“Can’t text, my hands are full.”_

Fushimi head him pant, but it didn’t affect how Misaki usually sounded, lively as ever, and that small display of casualness was encouraging, prompting him to push all traces of doubt away and keep his voice leveled.

“Of what? You’re beetle-hunting?”

_“Hey, good afternoon to you, too. And just who do you think I am?”_

Fushimi snorted and leaned back, making himself more comfortable. “The reserve’s official bear scratcher?”

_“Ha, ha, very funny.”_

“Besides touring me around, that’s all I saw you do.”

_“Really? Screw you, Saru. Lala likes it when I scratch her.”_

“Isn’t that what you’re doing?”

_“Keh, nah, you just caught me feeding the — the slugs. Why, you want some?”_ There was an edgy tone in his voice, his cheekiness so obvious and forced that it eased off some of the tension that Fushimi had been expecting to feel.

It also earned Misaki a tiny smile, despite the affronts. “Hm, I don’t know. I’ve just been downgraded from peacock to slug,” he scoffed, unmoved. “I have to assimilate my situation.”

_“Th-that was—!”_ Misaki sputtered, seeming flustered all of a sudden. _“N-never mind, okay.”_

“Hm? No, that was very clever of you. Bet you’re a real charmer.”

_“Sh-shut up. I’m gonna hang up.”_

Fushimi paused for a moment, caught aback and staring blankly at the screen for his computer.

“All right.”

_“Don’t just ‘all right’ me!”_ Misaki bellowed. _“What did you wanted to tell me!”_

“Hah?”

_“What?”_

“What?” Fushimi repeated with a raised eyebrow, regaining focus. “Didn’t you read what I sent you?”

_“You told me it was gonna take some time — what am I supposed to make out of that? Is that good or bad?”_

“I told you everything was fine, though. I thought that’d be enough.”

_“Well, yeah, but you didn’t say that!”_

“I did.”

_“What?”_

“I told you right before that.” Fushimi sighed.

_“No you... what? No.”_ There was a pause. _“Uh... hold on.”_

Fushimi felt a victorious little smirk lift his lips. “Can feed the slugs and handle your phone at the same time? I’m impressed.”

_“Shut up!”_ Fushimi heard some rustle of leaves as Misaki’s voice sounded closer, and then the soft tapping of Misaki’s fingers on his phone. _“Uh, okay, yeah... just saw that message.”_

“You are an idiot.”

_“Shut up! I didn’t see it before!”_

“Obviously.”

Misaki grumbled something unintelligible. _“So... now what?”_

“Now you’re wasting your minutes.”

_“Ugh, you’re... i-it’s fine, isn’t it?”_ Misaki sighed. _“So, uh... how did it go, exactly? We... I’m not getting in trouble for this?”_

“It went fine.”

_“Yeah, I read that... Just fine?”_

“Yeah.”

_“Hm... hey...”_ Misaki paused for a second. _“I... I’d rather be prepared... so if you can tell me what’s going on, that’d be...”_ He sounded hesitant, but determined.

Breathing out a sigh, Fushimi took a moment to consider it. Not that he had to think much; since there wasn’t any sensitive information to keep from the other, he saw no legal harm in telling him how fortunate he actually was.

“The reserve’s legislation endorses the actions of the warden team — that is, you. Under the principle of _nulla poena sine lege_ [2], basically, you and your team aren’t infringing any regulation that—”

_“Wait,”_ Misaki cut in.

“What?”

_“The hell is a_ nulapona _?”_

Fushimi brought his fingers to the bridge of his nose. He wasn’t particularly annoyed, but had to heave out another long sigh through his nose — details, details — and limit to explain the situation in a way a common civilian like Misaki could understand or at least get a decent idea of where he was standing.

“You didn’t break the law.”

_“Oh.”_ Misaki paused, seemingly taking in the rewording. _“Yeah! Damn right we didn’t. So, we good, right? Saruhiko?”_

Fushimi’s chest felt warm at that reaction. “Yeah, you could say that.”

The feeling only lasted so long before his mind trailed away from the half of the issue that was settled, to the other half of the case that wasn’t.

“Misaki.”

His eyes immediately came down with a grimace.

The name he didn’t like.

_“Yeah?”_

But Misaki remained unfazed.

Okay.

“Do you know anyone that could be against you—”

_“Wait!”_

“What?”

_“Stop! No, wait, don’t—!”_

There was a loud thump, like Misaki’s phone had collided against something soft but thick, or dropped to the ground, and then the line went dead.

Fushimi brought his phone down with a frown, looking at the screen for a visual confirmation, and waited half a minute before dialing Misaki’s number.

Nothing.

He dialed again.

“...”

Despite the wind clattering against the window, the abrupt calm that silenced Misaki’s voice was far more overwhelmingly noisy and had left a sour flavor in his mouth which he only realized he could taste when he licked away the dryness on his lips.

He spared a quick glance at his phone just in case, but as he turned to look at the keys hanging on the small hook by the door he found he’d already made up his mind.

“Damnit.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1 It’s not pivotal to the story, but in case anyone’s wondering, the game they’re playing is Final Fantasy VII, and the summons they’re talking about are Shiva, Ifrit and Hades. There isn’t any mobile remake, but for the sake of this fic, there is, lol!
> 
> 2 _Nulla poena sine lege_ is a legal Latin term that translates into “no penalty without a law”, meaning that “one cannot be prosecuted for doing something that is not prohibited by law”.
> 
> -
> 
> Please check out Marudyne's [amazing art](https://twitter.com/marudyne/status/794657297792430080)! It's just beautiful! I'm so blessed aaahhh thank you so much!! ;___;


	4. Involvement

Fushimi did not care.

But he still bolted to headquarters, briefly asked about the servers, found they were still down, and made his way to Scepter 4’s garage, where he found Kamo taking notes of two motorbikes that had been recovered from the gang he was investigating for the case under his charge.

He didn’t pry when Fushimi requested the keys of one of their unmarked Toyotas, because if Fushimi didn’t care, Kamo shouldn’t bother himself either.

He was just going to _take a look_. Hopefully, it wouldn’t take long. He wished he would have considered equipping himself with a snack or two before letting his impulse get the best of him, for the grumbling of his stomach hadn’t quieted down. If anything, it grew more demanding, and he had to hold his forearm against his belly when he reached the park and got off the car.

Despite the relentless wind, which left him fixing his hair more than once and hardening the muscles of his legs with every unsteady step, relief found him as he crossed through the semi open gates of the reserve and a mushy warmth began clinging to him, slowly.

Once inside, everything turned more still, like time had slowed down down there, whereas the leafy tops of the redwoods warred with the gales above them. They shook violently, with a loud, creaky sound that resembled that of a bonfire. In spite of the resemblance, sporadic gusts of humid air still chilled his neck and hands, and he found himself occasionally rubbing his clothed arms, keeping them over his growling stomach.

He could really use something edible at the moment. Maybe a blanket, too.

Only after taking a quick look.

And so he did.

It was all too tranquil, and only did his heart squeeze a bit when he made out the familiar outline of Misaki’s cabin, but no sight of Misaki, until he picked up on a familiar voice.

“Gotcha!”

He followed it, and when he looked around some more, he found Misaki there as well, crouched down just a couple of steps away from him. His small, but by no means weak back was facing him. When he straightened and stood up, Fushimi saw something orange and rather big dangling between his legs.

Another pair of legs.

He tilted his head a little to take a better look.

Furry legs.

“Yosh, you aren't going anywhere now!”

And it looked like Misaki was talking to them.

Fushimi advanced with tentative caution, but an exposed root he hadn’t paid enough attention to made him stumble and take three quick, clumsy steps forward. “Shit.” One of his hands flew to the nearest tree, seeking balance.

Reacting to his voice and the sudden scrunch of leaves beneath his boots, Misaki turned his head first, then his body.

“Saruhiko?!”

Upon stabilizing himself, half-hunched, Fushimi readjusted his glasses, his eyes widening as he stared blankly at Misaki like he’d grown a second head and not like he was holding a rabbit three-quarters his size.

Fushimi was strong, but he felt that if he tried to lift its face alone his arms would snap in two.

Misaki’s short sleeves were rolled up to his shoulders, his muscles shifting and revealing some strain in them as they wrapped around the rabbit’s pudgy body. It looked like he _was_ making some effort, but not quite at the same time, like the whole deal was some casual formality.

Fushimi felt some tension leave him at the sight of Misaki right in front of him, safe and sound and not six feet under like the prospect of his line going dead dramatically suggested.

As an agent, he was conditioned to consider every grim possibility.

Not that he actually needed a degree for that; certain forms of pessimism came to him naturally.

Misaki would still have some explanations to give to him, unofficially if not as Scepter 4’s employee, then as a regular civilian who was mildly irritated for having had to borrow a police car on his day off because Misaki wasn’t answering his phone, _and_ for withstanding such a pain in the ass weather.

The reminder sent a chill up his neck. He couldn’t even fathom why there wasn’t any goose bumps on Misaki’s arms.

When his eyes moved from the animal’s chubby face to Misaki’s, it took him some seconds to realize Misaki's gaze was not meeting his, but was everywhere else, like Fushimi had been the one to grow a spare head somewhere on his body.

“What?” Fushimi asked, somewhat demandingly.

Misaki quickly looked up with a caught-off-guard expression, and something like a faint blush coloring his face. “Uh, just... you look, uh... different. Without your... your uniform. Your clothes, I mean.”

Fushimi blinked back at him, letting the information settle in and trying to make some sense out of it. Truth be told, he was just vaguely aware of his outfit as a whole, having thrown on the first change of clothes he found in his closet without really caring what it was, as long as it was wearable.

He was pretty satisfied with what he owned enough to not keep any apparel that he wouldn’t use. But as he processed Misaki’s words, he felt his pulse jump a little.

There was nothing special about some gray t-shirt, an open black cardigan, and simple blue jeans. It wasn’t different from what he usually wore; it _was_ what he usually wore when he was off duty or even forced to attend to his boss’s spontaneous get-togethers. Simple, basic, comfortable enough.

But those searching, amber eyes made him feel somewhat inhibited, like his choice should have been more intelligent or that he ought to have picked something _better_ , and the sudden self-conscious heat that splayed across him almost made him forget all about how cold the forest actually was.

It also made him wonder how his hair looked.

“And that’s one big slug,” he managed, finding his voice a bit dry as he attempted to deviate the conversation.

Misaki bit his lip, suppressing a little smile, and let his shoulders slump a little, looking as if he was somehow hiding behind the rabbit’s head. “Okay, I lied.”

“I can tell.”

“Yeah, well...”

“This place is big enough for slugs to find their own food.”

“... Picky,” said Misaki with a snort. “Sue me.”

Fushimi shrugged. “Someone already did.”

Misaki let out a choked gasp. The reaction was alleviating, and Fushimi felt his heartbeat slow back to normal, his lips twitching at the corners.

Upon recovering his composure, confusion quickly settled in Misaki’s face. “But why are you here?”

“You weren’t answering your phone,” Fushimi said, expressly omitting the detail where he might have felt a bit bothered at that.

Misaki’s lips parted, as in realization. “Sorry.”

He clicked his tongue. “Whatever. What happened?”

“Oh, this... this buddy ran away,” Misaki said, staring fondly at the animal secured firmly in his arms. “I was giving him his meds, and he got reaaally nervous all of a sudden. Then there was this loud thunder — I think he felt it,” he explained as he carried the rabbit to the front of the cabin. “He’s used to them, but he always gets in his nest before it strikes.”

Fushimi looked up, noting how the pale white sky had turned a much darker, concrete hue.

“I’ve been trying to make him stay still for almost half an hour. You came just in time for his second shot!”

When Fushimi looked back at him, Misaki had sat on the steps and cradled the animal’s head close to his chest — he then noticed the med syringe that lay beside him, filled with a red liquid. Moving a hand to hold the rabbit’s chin as he used his thumb to push its upper lip up, Misaki then took hold of the syringe with his other hand and very carefully slid the tip into the animal’s mouth from the side.

“There you go,” he whispered as he released the rabbit’s lip, allowing its mouth to close around the syringe so that he could press on the plunger and let the medicine flow into the rabbit’s throat.

Then he held its mouth closed for a brief moment before moving his hand up to stroke between its ears reassuringly.

“This buddy came from Okunoshima[3]. He’s huge, huh?” he said while rubbing the rabbit’s fur with his knuckles. “He’s been living here since a few months ago. They brought him in because he has something bad with his joints, but he’s all right. He’s already used to the other bunnies.”

O... kay?

It all sounded very interesting, all right, on any other occasion.

But Fushimi could only stand there, watching every detail with rapt attention, caught himself in a trance-like daze, his gaze unblinking, lest something important escape him.

It was hard to tell what bewitched him the most; if it was the glimpse of the tip of Misaki’s tongue poking out of his lips as he held the rabbit’s snout, or how Misaki’s fingers caressed the rabbit’s head afterwards, or the way his lips turned upwards, into a content, satisfactory smile when the deed was done.

He had to admit that the sight was somewhat mesmerizing.

Misaki then let go of the rabbit to produce a small piece of broccoli — that was _broccoli_ —from his pants pocket, and bring it close to its face. The rabbit sniffed at what Fushimi deduced was a rather repulsive treat before parting its lips and sucking the vegetable into its mouth, devouring it pleasingly.

“He can’t run that fast but he’s still sneaky. Well, that’s Pochi for you,” Misaki added, giving two soft pats to the bunny’s back.

Taking the hint, _Pochi_ hopped away through the dense undergrowth and into the woods, out of their sight.

Fushimi stared.

“Pochi.”

“Ah... yeah. Anna named him.” Misaki’s smile faltered, and his look suddenly turned wryly sour. “‘s better than _Grilled Rabbit_...”

“What?”

“Wh-when Anna — she — she’s our friend, she... asked Mikoto-san to give him a name... and he said... that g-grilled... n-never mind.” He shook his head.

“... Right.” Fushimi wasn’t sure he wanted to know, anyway.

“Oh, yeah.” Suddenly, Misaki’s eyes widened up and he fluttered his hand. “What were we talking about? Before...” he paused with a little laugh, “all this?”

Fushimi had to take a moment to reorder his thoughts and replay their previous exchange on the phone, not having expected to carry on with their interaction here. And he really _needed_ to have his thoughts sorted out quickly before he started to feel all jittery again, or at least before Misaki decided to take a better look at him now that every other distraction had vanished.

Just as he pushed his glasses up and began to rewind the facts in his mind, his breath was brusquely taken away from him when something collided against his backside. The shock disrupted his rumination and forced him to stumble forward, reflexively planting a foot on the ground in front of him to avoid tripping all the way.

Out of the corner of his eyes, he saw Misaki making a motion to step closer, but staying put when he confirmed that Fushimi didn’t need his help. “Heh. She says hi,” he said instead.

 _She_ turned out to be the reason behind however Fushimi’s current situation could be defined as. Upon stabilizing himself, he acknowledged Lala’s headbutt and presence by turning and shooting her an annoyed look before fixing his glasses and putting some distance between them.

Lala gave no animal fucks whatsoever, seeing as how quickly she kept herself entertained with some tree nearby. Fushimi hadn’t even heard her approaching. When had he let his guard down like that?

He wanted to retort Misaki’s comment, but he’d rather save the energy to recover from the intrusive contact, and only clicked his tongue.

Misaki snorted.

With Lala left behind and the sudden quietude entwining them, the curt shaking of the leaves made Fushimi’s senses aware of how the wind had settled down again, a cold shudder beginning to lick his skin.

Seemingly aware of the shift in the atmosphere as well, Misaki straightened up and held the back of his neck awkwardly. “So, uh... what do we do now?” he asked.

Misaki’s question didn’t catch him off guard, but Fushimi found himself unable to voice an immediate answer.

 _Nothing_ , he initially thought. Now that it was made clear that there was no risk to concern themselves with, whether he was on duty or not his staying any more was pointless.

A tentative farewell sat on the tip of his tongue, until Misaki beat him to it and spoke up again.

“So... you... don’t have work today, right?” Fushimi blinked, and merely replied with a nod. Misaki faced away, looking hesitant, his lips pursed and brow slightly furrowed. “Then, um... y’know, it gets kinda lonely here sometimes,” he admitted with a bashful smile, shifting his weight on his feet, back and forth.

Fushimi wasn’t that oblivious not to guess what was coming. Although he still had his doubts, he let Misaki finish.

“If you don’t have to go back so soon, maybe you could sta—”

Misaki froze the very same instant Fushimi felt his body betraying him, his belly squeezing tortuously, and the echo of the sudden noise intruding the space between them had him staying quiet for good.

Honestly, if there was something more humiliating at the moment than watching Misaki’s eyes widening impossibly large at the savage growl that ripped itself from Fushimi’s stomach, Fushimi couldn’t think of it right now.

Fuck, he thought he even saw Lala’s head perk up as well.

There went his vain attempts at trying to stop feeling like an ice cube thrown into a microwave for once — not even the coldest gale could have been able to lessen the shame burning through him, his bones and skin warming up excessively again.

Misaki’s reaction wasn’t any more reassuring.

“F-fuck,” he stuttered, clearly attempting to suppress a laugh, with his shoulders slightly hunched, trembling. “The fuck was that?”

Fushimi didn’t bother to reply, masking his discomfort with a neutral grimace and trying to look both affronted and composed, but Misaki didn’t turn a hair.

“Hey, I don’t,” he stopped, unable to help himself from letting out a snort. _Seriously_ , what was the big deal. “I don’t speak... _krrriiiuuwww_ ,” said Misaki as Fushimi tried to process what he thought was some really monstrous onomatopoeia for the compromised sound that his stomach produced. “Or, whatever, but that’s like a... you’re hella hungry. Are you hungry?”

Fushimi clicked his tongue and looked away. “Whose fault is it?” he mumbled out quietly, almost to himself, shoving out of his retort the part where grabbing lunch wasn’t his main priority back when Misaki’s pleas on the other side of the line had rung louder.

He needed to get a raise for his efforts.

“Wha... hah?! How’s that my fault?” Misaki countered.

His belly roared a much louder reminder then, this time prompting him to press his forearm over it in an attempt to stifle the sound. “Damnit.”

He got a laugh in response. “Heh, not even she sounds like that.” Misaki pointed at Lala, who was scratching a tree a short distance away, and then bent down to grab the syringe he’d left on the stairs. “C’mon, I gotta wash this, and I have some food inside. You’re off duty, right? I’ll get you something.”

Fushimi stood still, a bit baffled at the offer, his mouth open but unable to respond right away that being off duty didn’t necessarily meant having time to do whatever he pleased.

He might well be a social butterfly with lots of pastimes to attend to, people to be with, even if the mere thought of living such a gregarious life made him want to shake his head in disdain.

“When I get back—” he blurted out unthinkingly, but the rest didn’t make it out. Admittedly, thinking in terms of risks, the truth was that he couldn’t find any right now.

Not _now_ that his stomach had already given a little squeeze in interest.

The fact that he was hesitating in the first place spoke volumes of how he didn’t exactly repudiated how new and spontaneous everything felt.

“Yeah, if you don’t faint on your way back.” Misaki retorted with a grin. “Let’s go. The storm’s gonna catch you.”

Fushimi glanced up at the sky, watching the concrete beyond the redwood and pine crowns, now blotched by much darker clouds.

It didn’t look good.

The wind had picked up, and Fushimi brought a hand up to his face, where he’d felt something wet and cold hit his cheek.

As his gaze shifted from the darkening sky to Misaki’s back, skepticism and curiosity warred in him as he watched the other step into the cabin and leave the door open, a dim light leaking from inside.

Fushimi breathed out.

What was the risk?

The first droplets of rain brushed his hair as he stepped onto the porch and into the lodge.

Warm air hit his face.

He almost left the door open, but decided against it and pulled it closed behind him until the lock clicked in place.

 

 

ʕっ˘ڡ˘ςʔ

 

 

“Man, you _forgot_?”

Misaki looked borderline astounded yet amused as he washed his hands in a small room fitted with a washbasin, a mirror hanging above it, and a toilet. Fushimi deduced it was, redundantly, the toilet room, which he didn’t expect to see.

“You have running water,” he pointed out, ignoring Misaki’s bafflement.

“Hah? Well, yeah. You didn’t see the tank outside?” Misaki gave a light shrug, shaking the water from his hands before snatching a rag hanging on the wall. “Where do you think this is, Heidi’s?”

Fushimi shot him a blank stare.

Misaki huffed out a little nervous laugh. “Uh, you know, Heidi... girl of the alp—hey, do you want karaage? Rice? I have some leftovers... b-but they’re in good state, I promise!”

He swallowed hard when Fushimi’s expression remained the same.

“W-well?”

“... Karaage is fine.”

He nodded. “Great. Just... give me a minute and, uh...” Abandoning the rag and waving a hand, he walked out into the main room. “Yeah, go sit. Wherever you want.”

_‘Go sit’, he says..._

Fushimi glanced around, noting how the auburn wood and the coppery tinge everywhere, which almost matched Misaki’s hair, gave the structure a typical sense of inviting warmth.

Slushy observations aside, the cabin was, just like he inferred from taking a look from the outside, a one-storey square structure. The only visual contact to the exterior — or the inside, if one were to look through it from the outside — were two small fixed glass windows, one at each side of the door, thanks to which Fushimi was able to watch the soft drizzle turn into the preliminary stage of a downpour.

Overall, it was a decent place; better than what he was expecting, at least. It wasn’t bigger than his apartment, but it wasn’t that small, either, and it was equipped with the minimum essentials. Misaki wasn’t lying when he said he kept it clean, although it didn’t look like there were many things to take care of in the first place.

It only had two rooms; the small washroom Misaki just came out of, located on the farthest right corner, and the main room where they were currently standing.

A square wooden table with two spare chairs lay in the middle. There didn’t seem to be any source of electrical power, but the LED lantern on top of the table provided enough light.

On the right side, between the washroom and the entrance was a medium-sized cupboard, equipped with another sink, a few drawers, and enough countertop to do whatever people did with that much space in the kitchen. He wouldn’t know.

There was no stove however, so the place didn’t have an actual, proper kitchen, but it did have something else to compensate. Opposite the toilet room, on the farthest left corner was a small stone fireplace. Judging by the grate installed in the hearth — and the sauce pan on top, which Misaki must have used to heat up his lunch? — it fit the role just fine.

Then, closer to the entrance and opposite the sink was a large western futon with a black mattress. Fushimi almost missed the pair of red cushions matching the rest of the thematic red all around, if only because a backpack, headphones, and different garments — Misaki’s beanie, a gray sweatshirt and a scarf — were haphazardly strewn across it.

He briefly wondered if Misaki actually wore any of that.

When he glanced back at him, Fushimi noted how his short sleeves were pulled back down.

Misaki was in front of the fireplace now. In the meantime, when Fushimi wasn’t looking, he’d lit a small fire and taken a second pan from somewhere. Both appeared to have food in them now, and Fushimi watched attentively as Misaki took a small piece of chicken from one of them. Upon savoring it and probably deciding it wasn’t hot enough, he proceeded to stoke the fire expertly.

Now he thought he’d seen it all.

But then Misaki sucked the tip of his finger into his mouth, and Fushimi’s feet wobbled and he regretted he hadn’t taken a seat when he’d been told to.

A soft thud near the entrance made him jolt and turn to it to find that Lala had stepped onto the porch and was leaning against one of the windows, to shield herself from the rain, he supposed.

“Hey!” Misaki’s voice snapped Fushimi’s gaze back to meet his. “C’mon, sit!” He made his way to the cabinet, crouching to open one of the drawers. Intrigued, Fushimi had to tilt his head a little to catch the glimpse of several packs of water bottles and Misaki taking one out along with a disposable plate and a pair of chopsticks.

Well, well, if Misaki’s base wasn’t decently outfitted, indeed. Who would’ve thought?

“It’ll be ready in a bit,” he assured as he placed everything on the table. His smile was catching.

Fushimi didn’t move right away, but by the time Misaki turned back to the fireplace and began stirring what was in the pans, his body had reacted to the sudden wave of smell wafting through his nostrils and down his throat, rekindling his appetite and urging the command to yield and _sit_ to reach his brain.

It was ridiculous, really. If he thought about the many times he’d spent hours immersed in front of a computer screen attributing the pain in his stomach to the consequences of a bad sitting posture, he could tolerate this.

But he ended up grabbing a chair and sitting down.

The first sensation to course through him was oddness. It just felt weird, waiting for someone to feed him, basically, and occupying the same physical space as that person.

Some of the strangeness of the situation began to fade only when he was suddenly reminded of the times he’d meet with his coworkers in the cafeteria at headquarters; countless occasions he’d watch the bartender, cook or waiter on other side of the counter serve him something he’d later digest.

This felt a bit different, though.

It felt like when he’d simply stay in his cubicle and Munakata would slip some subtle remarks here and there, while Awashima would throw all subtlety out the window and more than once set a plastic tray with some precooked meal on his desk on her way back to her office.

Those two were a strange pair, didn’t seem to be driven by some charitable purpose, or to expect anything in return.

For someone to just offer something without aiming for any kind of compensation...

_Hm._

The implication dug itself further into his head, and the words left his mouth on impulse. “I’ll repay you, later.”

And when he saw Misaki freeze and stop stirring, until only the hiss of the pan was everything — the only thing — that he could hear, he immediately regretted it.

It became an unsettling sound, unfitting of the atmosphere that Misaki usually brought forth, one that made Fushimi’s psyche revoke his physical needs and feel his stomach close up a little for a moment.

When Misaki turned his head around, his look was a mix of disbelief. “I — I don’t _want_ anything,” he mumbled out. The slight pout on his lips, as if he’d taken offense, was tranquilizing. Without waiting for a response, he went on. “Anyway, it’s ready.”

He turned back a last time to switch the burner off, and then stepped closer to the table, pan in hand before gently and expertly pushing all the chicken strips onto the plastic plate.

And Fushimi could only stare.

Only much later into adulthood had he learnt how _normal_ parents taught their kids not to accept what a stranger offered to them, especially what Misaki had placed in front of him, which usually topped the list.

But Misaki wasn’t that much of a stranger now, was he? Moreover, the fact that his boss had heard of him kind of gave Fushimi another reason to trust him, or at least not to distrust him.

Not that he necessarily needed Munakata’s reassurance to reach his own conclusions.

Besides, it kind of smelled good, and that alone made the rule with which he measured his standards jump with glee.

Again.

Despite his body’s protests pressuring him to satiate his palate as soon as possible, urged by the display, he still managed to serenely snap the chopsticks apart without giving away how much he actually found himself wanting to use them already.

He readied himself.

But before he could take hold of a piece of something, a bowl of steaming-hot rice was placed before him.

Fushimi looked up, confused. “What are you doing?”

“What?” Misaki raised an eyebrow, equally confounded as he took the seat across from him. “That’s not enough, right? If you’re starving you need rice, too.” He shrugged. “I have some snacks too, but I figured you’d need something,” he paused, as if looking for the right word, “more filling, y’know?”

Fushimi looked back down, his vision immediately beginning to blur.

And then, the fog was everywhere.

_Ugh._

Clicking his tongue, he reluctantly let his chopsticks down to take his glasses off, vexed that he had nothing to wipe the steam off his lenses with but the edge of his t-shirt, and at the prospect of being completely unprepared for something so mundane.

He was sure he heard Misaki huff a laugh, which made things more embarrassing.

“Why are you doing this?” Fushimi asked as he fixed his glasses back on.

“Uh... what?”

“Why are you giving me... this.”

There was a brief instant of silence.

“Why do you keep asking that?” Misaki countered with a frown.

Fushimi raised an eyebrow. “When did I ask?”

He shook his head. “No, it’s... I know you didn’t, not like that. I mean... what you said before? About repaying me?” He paused. “It’s okay, it’s for sharing anyway. And I packed way more than I needed, heh.” He brought a hand to his neck. “So just take as much as you want.”

As if he was reminded of how offended he was to feel, Misaki’s face suddenly scrunched into a grimace as he crossed his arms over his chest and leaned back in his chair.

“And don’t think too hard about it, okay?!” His cheeks puffed up slightly, and Fushimi had to admit something about how hard he tried to look as irritated as he sounded was not exactly hilarious, but made him press his lips together to force back a smirk. Misaki was so simple.

“It isn’t too spicy, is it?” he asked, sheepishly glancing back up at him. “I... get carried away with some stuff sometimes... with pepper, and...”

Without feeling the need to respond, Fushimi picked his chopsticks back up to. The second he took his first bite and the flavor washed over his tongue, he felt like a rush of life had been breathed back into him.

He took one more bite, and another, until the distinct, gnawing sensation of being watched made him look back up and meet Misaki’s expectant gaze.

“What?” he asked, startled, voice low.

“S-so...”

Fushimi frowned, feeling dumb for having to ask again. “What?”

Misaki swallowed hard, seemingly nervous. “Is it spicy? Too salty?”

When it became clear that Misaki wasn’t taking his eyes off him, expectant, Fushimi realized he was actually waiting for an answer.

_Oh._

Well.

Allowing a moment of reflection, Fushimi stared down at his plate.

It was _good_ , and it wasn’t just the fact that his body would accept just about anything by then.

(Well, no, it wouldn’t. No matter how desperate it was, anything green and fibrous was bound to repel the urgency of his necessities, like lead climbing up his trachea.)

But spicy? Salty? What did he know? He couldn’t even summon the right reaction to having been asked for his opinion. He did know he liked how it tasted. If Misaki got carried away like he claimed he did, the final result didn’t rebound against him.

Then, abruptly, as he finished processing Misaki’s words, he looked up once again, their eyes meeting.

“You made this?”

“Y-yeah,” Misaki admitted, rubbing a finger under his nose, a little smile finding his lips. “I had some extra chicken so I got everything ready last night before I hit the sack...”

His pointed gaze was still on him, and Fushimi eventually managed to mutter a low, “It’s good.”

Out of the corner of his eyes, he saw Misaki’s posture relax. “Really? Good.”

Taking another piece of chicken, Fushimi silently processed the influx of information his analytical side was receiving, without actually having much to analyze. Misaki was the kind to sometimes prep his lunch for the next day the night before, as ridiculous as that sounded for takeout existed, and as Fushimi conceived the image in his mind, it was a trivial fact, to say the least, yet right then it felt fitting.

There was something else, however, that had been echoing in his head for a while.

“You said it was for sharing.”

“Eh?” Misaki raised his eyebrows, then paused a moment, as if he didn’t quite remember. “Ah, yeah.”

“Why?”

“Eh, why?” he repeated, a bit more perplexed than before, but Fushimi stayed silent. “Uh, I guess...” His eyes drifted down, as if debating whether to say something or not. “Kamamoto, my friend... he works part time here, to make some extra bucks....”

Misaki trailed off, and Fushimi had to stop as well. It didn’t feel right to keep feeding himself when Misaki’s expression had turned serious, so he swallowed what he’d been chewing and limited to listen.

“He... he’s got some shit going on at home, something about the family business and their suppliers, and his parents’ health.” Misaki shook his head lightly, and looked up at him. “Anyway, his head’s in the clouds lately — like, real _bad_ — and this idiot says his appetite drops in summer, fall, or some shit, so he keeps forgetting to pack his lunch,” he explained with a wry smile. Fushimi raised an eyebrow at the affective term of sorts, but let him go on. “I just kinda started packing some extra food,” he admitted with a little shrug. “He’s not coming today, though. It’s his day off...”

Fushimi wanted to shake his head. Honestly, only someone like Misaki would do something for someone who wouldn’t come, huh?

Well, that was fine. And the fact that none of this was originally intended for him didn’t bother him, either.

“Just think of it like when your mom packed your lunch for school,” Misaki added with a soft smile, his face relaxing. “Right?”

Fushimi stared down at his plate again. Was it like this?

He’d seen it in his school’s cafeteria; kids about his age who he doubted could handle any silverware that wasn’t a plastic spoon for the lives of them, not even mentioning fire, bringing their flashy lunchboxes overflowing with smells and colors. And then Fushimi, whose definition of lunch comprised anything so long as it was industrially confined inside a plastic wrapper and of a size that could fit in his pockets.

Maybe, if Misaki said so, this was what the former felt like.

“I guess,” he let out with a huff, not feeling like revealing his limited knowledge.

“It’s the same thing!” Misaki only agreed fervently, like he was trying to convince himself as well. Then he quickly averted his eyes, and Fushimi found the hesitant gesture odd. “And besides...”

Just when Fushimi had forgotten how Misaki reacted when he got all flustered for nothing, as soon as Misaki glanced up and their eyes met again, he pulled his gaze away, his head sinking between his shoulders and something like a blush flushing his cheeks.

There it was.

What was with that reaction, honestly?

He thought he had an idea, a very delirious idea which made his stomach swoop but still feel airy and hungry. The thought that he might have made a similar expression without his conscious knowledge as the one he was seeing right now had his own cheeks feeling a little hot.

But there was no way.

There was a long pause that splayed all over the room, and then, he ate in silence.

Misaki was still looking away, but at some point he’d sat upright to face him squarely. Watching. Intently. Fushimi noticed how his eyes followed the movement of his hands, fingers, every flick of his wrist and every pause he made.

It was a bit nerve-wracking at first, but the more he got used to it, the less he minded.

In fact, feeling a little defiant, he dared to look up and catch Misaki’s eyes.

It wasn’t until a few seconds of keeping his hands still that Misaki realized Fushimi had stopped eating to watch him as well. When their gazes finally met for more than a second, Misaki’s body gave a slight, almost imperceptible jolt, and his face flushed pink to the ears.

The corners of Fushimi’s mouth quirked up a little.

“Wh-what?”

_That should be my line._

“Nothing.”

There was no way.

“Wh-what are you laughing at?” Misaki asked defensively, slumping in his chair and crossing his arms over his chest once more. Judging by the little spasms his body gave, he was bouncing his leg.

“I’m not laughing,” Fushimi said calmly, not sparing another glance at him, facing down and taking another bite.

“You totally are!”

Fushimi let out a soft snort, the kind that acknowledged some truth in Misaki’s guess but still translated as ‘screw you, I’m not’ — much like a typical response he’d grant the Lieutenant when she’d scold him for being careless, albeit they both knew he really wasn’t.

That little pang at their superiors’ treatment had found a permanent home in his chest; it screamed discomfiture at first — seriously, those people, getting all noisy over nothing — but then he’d come to associate other distinct emotions with it. To call them _positive_ would be a little too much, too jolly, but they certainly weren’t bad, and that was telling enough of how... diverted the path he’d had taken was, how different from what he’d come from it looked, felt.

Right now, something about this moment brought forth those distinct sensations, too.

And to think all it took was a stupid case.

This... wasn’t bad at all.

He took another bite.

Good, mundane, simple enough to disregard its value. Anyone could do it, fried chicken. Not him, hell no.

Seriously, this guy, who prepared his own lunch before going to bed, who was easy to hang out with...

Out of the corner of his eye, Fushimi saw Misaki face away again and the hint of a smile that would sure have been nice to see if he wasn’t so obviously biting his lip to hide it.

That somehow made his next bite taste sweeter.

 

 

ʕ ˘ ᴥ ˘ ʔو

 

 

Seven strips of chicken and a third of a bowl of rice later, the rain had settled down into more than a drizzle, a steady, heavy drumming sound washing over the ceiling.

Misaki had been left tidying up the few things on the table, while Fushimi moved to one of the windows, already repudiating the idea of having to psyche himself up to wade through the mud and some small poodles forming between exposed roots to get to where he’d parked the car.

Before long, Misaki strode toward the other window, hands on his hips as he too took a look outside. “‘s not stopping, huh.”

“No,” Fushimi agreed, then looked at him. “When does your shift end?”

“Uh, about...” Misaki patted his pants pockets and pulled his phone out. “Less than an hour.”

“We better go now.”

“Hah? Now?”

“Before it gets worse.”

“But we should wait until it stops!”

“It doesn’t look like it’s going to stop anytime soon.”

“What if lightning hits you?”

“It’s fine if the storm hasn’t started yet. My car’s just outside.”

Misaki looked hesitant for a second. Eventually, exhaling a heavy sigh, he tucked his phone back into his pocket and planted himself by the door, closing his hand around the knob. “Fine. But I don’t have an umbrella.”

Fushimi stuck his hands into his pockets, giving a little shrug. “Figured this base of yours had to have a weak point,” he scoffed with a smirk.

Misaki’s grin was as cheeky as it was charming. “Yeah, yeah. You stay and see how far the storm is, I still have to pack my things.”

“Roger,” Fushimi snorted, watching Misaki turn the knob and push.

But the door stayed closed.

A pause.

Misaki pushed again, and then turned to look at Fushimi, who stared back at him with an eyebrow raised and just a vague feeling about the expression of confusion slowly unfolding on his face.

“What?”

Misaki frowned. “It’s stuck.”

“... What?”

He moved away, giving more space to Fushimi who positioned himself in front of the door before gripping the doorknob firmly and pulling the door inwards, for good measure.

“It opens from the outside, you have to—” Fushimi pushed before Misaki could finish. “Push, yeah, like that.”

Nothing.

Disbelief swept across Fushimi’s face. “What the...”

It was odd. As he pushed again, he noted that the mechanism was functional and that the door budged a little, only to budge right back again, like something was deliberately forcing it close.

He let go of the knob—

_ “Mnnrrrhh.” _

—just as something like a _growl_ vibrated from the other side of the door.

Misaki quickly turned his head to him and Fushimi sought his gaze as well, both of their eyes going wide. A sudden hush mixed with the constant hammering of the rain reigned for a moment as they stared at each other, as if they were jointly confirming what they’d just heard in the other’s dumbfounded look.

“Was that...?” Misaki began.

Fushimi clicked his tongue. “It can’t be.” But he could already hear the cogs turning in his head as he moved a little closer to one of the windows by the door, tilting his head to take a good look at the entrance.

_Lala._

Always. Lala.

She’d moved from the window and was now lying down by the door, on her back, with her two frontal paws tucked into her chest, one of her forefeet giving little twitches and facing up like it was being pulled up by a cord, and her belly exposed like she was in some freaking beach and not under a very narrow porch in the middle of a soon-to-be thunderstorm.

This creature was bizarre. Fushimi wasn’t even surprised anymore, honestly, although he did find it a little odd that she hadn’t tried charging her way inside. Were they to have left the door open, she totally would have. Perhaps this was her revenge, as unbelievable as that sounded. But what was not at this point?

Moving away from the sight, Fushimi tiredly raked a hand through his bangs, pushing them back, mildly frustrated. The deep sigh he heaved through his nose shortly after caught Misaki’s attention.

“What is it?”

“See for yourself,” he said, stepping back for Misaki to take his place.

Misaki complied with a skeptical look, approaching the window. As he pressed his cheek against the glass, eyes searching to expand his range of vision, his curious expression instantly morphed into sheer surprise.

“L-Lala?! What the—” Misaki cut himself off and moved to the entrance to bang on the door a few times, but to no avail. “Oi, Lala! Wake up!”

Misaki’s voice became background noise as Fushimi looked around to be reminded how he’d already concluded that the cabin had no other openings, other than the front door and the windows.

The windows, though. There was no way they could go through them unless the glass was broken down. And even if some part of them could, two grown adults like them — Misaki counted as one — would probably get stuck at some point anyway.

Well, he had nothing to lose.

“How much are your windows worth?”

Misaki snapped his head back to face him with a scandalous grimace. “We’re not going through the windows!” he reprimanded loudly. “We won’t even fit!”

Fushimi looked away with a click of his tongue. “I was just asking.”

_We’re stuck here, after all..._

He glanced back at Misaki, whose protests had died down to be replaced by a series of grunts and moans as he pointlessly attempted to push the door open with all his might. As expected when fighting against two hundred pounds of bones, flesh and fur, any effort to prompt Lala to move was fruitless.

Fushimi didn’t like feeling powerless, but when Misaki insisted so _hard_ that his arms strained in a ridiculously pleasing-to-observe way, he found the scene rather compensatory, to say the least.

His fingers gave a little twitch. With a little imagination he could almost feel the taut skin, firm and squeezable, beneath his hands.

Swallowing thickly, he clenched them into fists and waited for the itch to go away.

He focused on Misaki’s blazing perseverance instead, whose flexibility and unique creativity allowed him to push against the wood in many funny ways. With his back against the door. With his shoulder. With the base of his fists. With both hands and a knee. Taking a short sprint, charging against the door, failing miserably. Taking another short sprint, stopping right in front of the door, breathing in dramatically and pushing with his bare hands. He’d even tried with his butt.

_Pft._

Fushimi had to give him some credit; it was all so utterly stupid, it was amusing.

“O-oi! Saruhiko! What’re you laughing at!” Misaki scowled, knees flexed, his back and palms flat against the door, and only then had Fushimi realized he’d long lost control over the wide grinning pulling at his lips. “Don’t just stand there and come help me out!”

“Eh? No way, she’s too heavy.”

“Wha—!”

After a few more futile tries, Misaki finally gave up, blowing out quick breaths as he bent over dejectedly, his hands cupping his knees. As the echo of his panting gradually vanished, the percussive noise outside the cabin became more strident, and it sounded like it had already begun to pour down harder for a while. There was some thundering, too.

Even if they could get her to move now, with the occasional telltale strikes lighting up the forest white, the crack of thunder echoing through all the reserve roughly four seconds later, and all that many tall trees scattered throughout the forest...

Yeah, maybe the risk of a quick race to the car was as much annoying as it was a bad idea.

There was only so much they could do against nature. As Fushimi spun around toward one of the chairs he resigned to the only viable action at the moment, which was as Misaki had previously suggested, waiting. It couldn’t be that bad. He had his phone with him, were an emergency to happen. And no matter how hurried he’d been, he made sure to lock his apartment and leave all the windows properly closed.

But...

The quicker he accepted his fate, the more he felt the room begin to shrink around him and the urgent need to sit down, feeling giddy.

Did the cabin always feel this small? Was it big enough for two people? It somehow felt like it before, but the prospect of sharing the same restricted space for more than just a few minutes, with Misaki, was dizzying.

He’d planted a hand on the back of one of the chairs when Misaki’s ringtone went off, making him jump but also snapping him out of his internal little moment of consternation.

“Totsuka-san.” Fushimi looked over his shoulder, and Misaki spared a quick glance back at him before picking up. “Hey, Totsuka-san! Are you okay? ... Yeah, don’t worry, we’re both okay!” There was a pause, and Misaki’s expression shifted a little, his look turning bashful. “Oh, um... I’m with... Saruhiko...”

Fushimi sat down with his arms crossed over his chest, feeling a bit embarrassed at the casualness with which Misaki uttered his name, especially with that Totsuka guy on the other side of the line. It didn’t help that he noticed how flushed Misaki’s face suddenly was.

“N-no, we just... he just came to ask something!” There was another pause before he turned his head to the side a bit, facing away, and began to whisper, albeit not quite low enough. “Y-yeah, I _know_ I said I kinda like... wh-what...?”

His face went from a pink to a bright red, and Fushimi felt his own doing more or less the same. Even he wasn’t that much of a social recluse to be unable to figure out what that sudden abashment implied.

Heat rose to his cheeks and cold licked his neck, like his skin was blazing up so much that the slightest breeze made him shiver. It was hard to tell if it was his body’s doings or the chill that the rain brought, sneaking in through the edges of the windows.

_Agh._

Fushimi tightened his arms over himself, feeling the need to tuck his head between his shoulders, make himself smaller to fight the squirming sensation in his belly and quell it. The urge to stand up and turn Misaki around and have him saying those things to his face crossed his mind at some point... a thought that agitated him greatly, too.

But there was also the part of him that felt... pleased.

_‘Kinda’._

_Tsk. Be more certain about it, would you?_

It was frustrating, but he had to muster some effort to try not to smile.

“I-I can’t just... say...” Misaki kept talking. “I don’t want to freak—y-yeah, I _know_... I’ll try! ... Yeah, you too!”

He hung up, and turned back with a sheepish look.

“It was Totsuka-san.” Duh. “They’re staying in until the storm stops.”

“Hm.”

The room fell silent.

He was staying here. He was really doing this.

If he thought about it, it wasn’t much different than one of his boss’s spontaneous gatherings. If it was, maybe he could get away with it with the minimal effort just like he was used to.

He wasn’t good at conversation. Hell, he didn’t even know why _that_ mattered now. It never mattered before, but the less he’d use his mouth now, the better. He supposed he’d be lucky if Misaki asked him to do something simple to keep themselves entertained, like a stupid magic card trick — Misaki _better_ had playing cards in all that mess on the couch. That always helped break the ice when none of his coworkers knew how to begin indulging their boss, and the reactions he eventually got made the flow of their encounters run smoother, more tolerable.

How would he react, though?

Munakata’s reactions would have been funny, as always, yeah. Hidaka and Domyoji would be the same pair of clowns, gawking at everything. Excessively so. And so would the rest, albeit more discreetly. Even Fuse would shake his head in a helpless this-can’t-be-happening way. Kamo would comment how much her daughter liked magic tricks, while Fushimi would tremble at the prospect of dealing with tiny humans — he barely managed to deal with himself when he was one. Awashima would smile fondly, simply enjoying the trust Munakata had placed on her to help him arrange the reunions by locating the whereabouts of every member of the squad, lest they miss the invitation, and proposing diverse topics of interest.

Even if he ended up overwhelmed by it all afterwards, part of him had gotten so used to those mundane performances, both inside and outside work. He couldn’t exactly remember how it felt not having those people around.

A bit lonely, he supposed.

_Hm._

Maybe it did matter, a little.

Although none of that changed the fact that the storm wasn’t stopping.

“We... we better wait too.” Misaki’s soft voice cut through the quiet, and Fushimi found himself slowly, calmly, drifting away from his thoughts, and agreeing with no more than a nod. “Good thing you’re here, huh.”

Fushimi straightened then, not expecting that.

“I... I’ve never stayed after hours... at night before,” Misaki went on, shifting where he stood, one hand clenching around his phone, the other curling around the back of his neck. “But at least if you’re here, it’s a bit less...” he trailed off, his eyes skittering away.

“... Scary?” Fushimi prodded, raising an eyebrow.

He snapped back up at him. “I-I’m not saying I’m scared or anything, is just...” His tone wavered and the faux display of bravery was enough for Fushimi to find relief and grin loosely.

“That’s totally what you’re implying, though.”

“I-I never said that!”

“It’s fine, anyway, isn’t it?” He cut in. “There’s literally a bear outside and you’re fine with that. What could be worse than that?”

Misaki was pouting now. “That’s different...”

After a few seconds of silence, Fushimi let his arms relax and gave a light shrug.

“Good thing I’m here, then,” he offered with a smirk, voice brimming with self-sufficient confidence. He could do this.

“Yeah, thanks to whoever reported her, right.” Misaki looked away with a frown. His lips were pursed, but the offended look wasn’t erasing the little smile forming at the corners, and as Fushimi’s eyes fixed on the curl of Misaki’s mouth, a thought crossed his mind.

A crazy thought.

But there was no way.

And it was borderline creepy.

To think that Misaki would be behind the complaints himself, seriously, and because he might have some sort of business with Fushimi? No. Besides, Misaki evidently cared about Lala too much to expose himself like that.

Fushimi had to crack a smile. Where was this unexpected boost to his ego coming from?

That was why he wasn’t the Captain, and he was fine with being his subordinate.

The conjecture was as harebrained and irrational as the sudden incertitude making his insides squirm upon focusing back on Misaki and catching him facing down, staring at the phone in his hand seriously, thoughtfully.

Fushimi couldn’t help his mind from trailing back to the conversation he’d had just now. Was it about what Totsuka had told him? Something that Misaki had to tell him eventually? _What_ would that be?

Would he... expect an answer?

Because Fushimi honestly hoped he was just imagining the nervous twitch of Misaki’s lips and the little frown between his eyes, because he wasn’t sure he could cope with whatever was coming next coupled with the strange amalgam of anxiety and expectation already throbbing inside him.

_‘Quit messing around...’_

_‘You barely know me, idiot...’_

It all sounded so easy in his head.

“Hey, Saruhiko,” Misaki murmured, finally, and Fushimi readied himself for anything, unable to dissect what that hushed tone meant.

_Is this it?_

He felt his pulse quicken.

When Misaki raised his head and sought his gaze — his eyes shining with a peculiar glint, a mix of realization and something else that Fushimi couldn’t put his finger on — it suddenly felt like all the light in the room was coming from the epiphanic look on his face. And Fushimi was being the focus of it, incapable of scurrying away from it like a deer caught in the headlights.

Without replying, he simply held Misaki’s unwavering gaze.

Without waiting for a response, Misaki grinned at him and raised his hand, his phone enclosed in it, with the screen facing Fushimi’s troubled mien. “Let’s play a game!”

... Ah.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 3 Okunoshima, also known as Rabbit Island, is an island known for... its rabbits! More info [here](http://www.dailymail.co.uk/travel/travel_news/article-3170464/Tourists-queue-smothered-Rabbit-Island-let-s-hope-took-change-clothes.html)!
> 
> A game. ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)  
> Aaah thank you so so so much for following this little story! ♥ We're almost there!


	5. Backup

Before Fushimi realized it, the couch, previously brimming with Misaki’s belongings, had been cleared for them.

(He’d also learned that there was a skateboard beneath all that mess.)

More like Misaki had hastily shoved his things to the side when Fushimi hadn’t opposed — hadn’t reacted — to the idea of _playing a game_ , and piled them on one end of the couch, the result resembling a very chaotic nest. Seriously, one would think he’d learnt something with how much time he spent surrounded by trees, birdies, and all that Snow White jazz.

The next moment they were sitting together with a bag of chips strategically placed between them, but still close enough that Fushimi could feel Misaki’s body heat seeping into his own clothes. Beside him, Misaki was huddled up with his legs drawn up to his chest and apart, his forearms on his knees as he held his phone. Devoid of the familiarity of his apartment, Fushimi sat a more conventional way, with his feet flat on the floor and his phone on his lap.

The game in question was the same they had talked about the day before. Misaki was set on getting past the area he was stuck on, and Fushimi... well, Fushimi _had_ offered to help him, so any complaint from his side would have been hypocritical. Not that he was complaining.

It was just not what he was expecting when Misaki looked at him with such determination.

Their phones were connected to each other through a long connector cable that allowed them to synchronize their save files and share their progress. Misaki had pawed it from one of the pockets of his backpack, claiming he used it to play with Kamamoto.

Seriously, even having their phones linked like that felt too personal.

Fushimi frowned, refraining from clicking his tongue at his own dumb observation, and dragged his eyes back to his phone. His brain summoned a firm _‘Let’s do this’_. This was new, but not in a bad way, for now. It wasn’t like he could be doing much else in this situation anyway, and nobody was waiting for him back home.

Except for the boy next to him, who — rather patiently, he had to admit — kept his gaze glued to the screen of Fushimi’s phone as Fushimi loaded his save file, and wore a huge grin that made his cheeks push up, his eyelids almost touching.

The look was a bit infectious, and Fushimi couldn’t help but quirk his lips in a smile as well.

“It’s not going to load any faster if you keep staring.”

Misaki looked up, leaning back a little. “I can’t wait! I wanna see the new weapons you got!”

“Hm. Better than yours, for sure.”

“Shut up!” Misaki hissed, still grinning.

Fushimi shrugged. “You’ll get them, too, eventually.”

To keep it fair, the game didn’t allow them to load the file with the most progress into the story. So, off to the glacier area Misaki was stuck at, then. Because Fushimi had already explored the area and thus had a higher level as well, he couldn’t collect any duplicates of the items he’d gotten previously. Not that it really mattered. Some low-key grinding as Misaki leveled up and caught up with him wasn’t that bad, and some of the mobs’ drops were actually pretty decent.

Upon finishing synching their files, Misaki looked ecstatic. Fushimi was a bit better at hiding his enthusiasm, but truthfully, he was a bit excited too, and curious.

“Well... ‘m right behind you,” Misaki said with a smirk, throwing him a sideways glance before fully diverting his attention to his phone.

Fushimi briefly stared back at him and turned toward his phone as well, waiting for the game to load, and, ah, there it was.

There was always that one area that was just a _pain_ to get through, not because it was necessarily difficult. The glacier level just wasn’t quite one of his favorites. It gave him shivers just by looking at it, and it was too bright white and monotonous. Not to mention it kind of reminded him of all the marble furniture at the mansion he spent most of his childhood in.

Nevertheless, as he led the way and watched the sprite of Misaki’s character follow his, the sight became more tolerable. At least it didn’t feel that deserted.

Several steps into the dungeon, the screen distorted — a telltale sign that preceded a random encounter with a mob. Good. He was wondering what kind of battler Misaki was.

The fight began and three snowman-like monsters materialized before them—

“ _ORRRRYAAAAA_!”

Fushimi started, eyes going wide and eyebrows shooting up to his hairline.

“Take this, you assholes!”

And it was a nightmare.

The best word to define Misaki’s fighting style had to be _immolating_.

Potions were a good thing. Healing spells were a great thing.

But Misaki was having none of that.

It was just him, the constant swoosh of his blade, and the mobs pummeling back at him.

“Come on!”

And his... battle cries.

Honestly, Fushimi had never seen anything remotely like it before.

The problem was... he wasn’t actually causing any damage, and his health points were decreasing incredibly fast.

Fushimi briefly noticed the white sparkles shaking around Misaki’s character with each thrust of his sword.

“Saruhiko! What are you standing there for! Help me out! I’m dying!”

Snapping him out of his little bafflement, Misaki’s agitated voice urged Fushimi to open the battle menu and pick a potion to throw at his partner.

It didn’t help the game had a real-time combat system, so he had to follow Misaki around first to make sure he was within his range of influence and be able to throw items at him, because Misaki seemed to be completely oblivious to their existence to do it himself.

Seriously, how did he even come this far?

As was to be expected after watching Misaki running around and about the arena futilely trying to hit something but being hit twice as hard, his character fainted.

Misaki gasped.

It was up to Fushimi to slash the three mobs quickly and get the encounter over with. When the battle concluded, for a long moment afterwards, there was nothing but an awkward silence.

When he stole a glance beside him, Misaki was still staring down at his phone, mouth agape like he didn’t know whether to look relieved that they didn’t have to reload their file or frustrated that he’d died.

Then their eyes met.

“What was that?!”

Fushimi clicked his tongue. “You were wasting my potions.”

“I had it under control—”

“You weren’t even hitting them, Misaki.”

“What are you—”

“Give me your phone.”

“Hah? Why?” Misaki asked, confused, but still handed his phone over as Fushimi set his own aside. Ignoring the little prickle under his skin when their fingers grazed, he immediately slid open the equipment menu.

First things first.

“What do you mean I wasn’t hitting them?”

“Didn’t you wonder why you weren’t harming them?”

“Oh... yeah, I noticed that... I thought it was part of a challenge.”

Fushimi turned to him with a questioning look. “What kind of challenge would that be?”

“I don’t know! I’m just saying... I could hit everything just fine before.” He crossed his arms over his chest with a scowl.

“Well, not now,” Fushimi stressed, turning back to Misaki’s phone and finding what he was looking for. For the kind of dungeon they were in, Misaki’s weapon and armor of choice were completely obsolete, and his character screamed to be ran all over. It was no wonder any attempts to harm anything here would backfire. “The white glow of your weapon... is because you’re using an ice sword.”

“Ah, yeah! I got it in the last town.”

Ah, yes, the last town. The glacial town right before the glacial dungeon, which sold ice-based equipment. Typical. And super useless right now.

“This is an ice weapon,” Fushimi rephrased. Misaki raised an eyebrow. “You can’t use it here.”

“Hah? Why? It’s the strongest I have.”

“The strongest so far, not the most convenient in here.”

“Uh...”

“You’ll never harm any ice monster with it. Any hit will heal them.”

Misaki unfolded his arms with a baffled look, realization flashing in his eyes as he threw his head back against the couch. “Fuck.”

“You must still have a fire sword, from another dungeon.”

“Because fire kills ice, right! Damn!” Misaki facepalmed. When he turned his head back to the front, his eyes glowed with excitement. “Great, now I can—”

“And your defense is weak. You’re practically begging to be killed.”

And then his hopeful look crumbled instantaneously, all eagerness flattening. “O-okay?”

“You’re still wearing the same armor from two towns ago.”

“Uh-huh...”

“Why?”

Misaki’s sudden frown was one of defiance, like he’d been somehow expecting this moment. “It looks good! And it isn’t important, right? I mean, the best defense is a good offense!” he elaborated with a smirk, raising a fist for effect.

Fushimi stared.

Seriously.

“That’s dumb,” he sentenced and quickly turned back to the phone, ignoring Misaki’s choked gasp. “You don’t even have a good offence. And you’re better off with ice armor. You got one too, right?” Without waiting for an answer, he was already browsing through the list of Misaki’s available equipment, selecting a more appropriate gear.

There was a beat of silence.

“Whatcha doing now?” Misaki’s voice drew terribly close, and Fushimi started, nearly flinched away, his breathing halting and words jamming in his throat. “Ah, that’s my gear. You gonna change everything?”

He hadn’t moved an inch, yet it was impossible to miss the sudden scent of shampoo and wood shaking him from his train of thought as Misaki leaned over to take a peek at his phone, scooting so close that Fushimi could feel the other’s breath on his neck and the ends of his hair tickling the underside of his cheek.

Hyper aware of their shoulders touching and how much warmer than he thought Misaki’s body was, Fushimi felt himself growing a bit anxious as he cast his eyes toward the other’s face, or what little he could see of it. There wasn’t much he could catch from his angle, most of it being obscured by his hair and the fact that it was getting dark; there was only so much the lantern and the embers in the fireplace could do to keep both the room decently lit up and them from a hypothetical blindness.

“So, what now?” Misaki spoke again, drawing back a little. The moment he blinked up at Fushimi with those large eyes, he sculpted himself into Fushimi’s mind.

His fingers itched with the urge to reach out, for something, but he only allowed their gazes to meet for just a split second more before he was turning his eyes away and hastily shoving the phone back to its owner.

“You have potions and spells, too,” he exhaled with a shaky breath, like he’d been running for hours, without being quite sure what he’d said. It surprised him he’d actually stayed on topic. “Use them.”

“W-woah, thanks,” Misaki replied slowly, retrieving his phone and leaning back against the couch.

Fushimi didn’t reply. Patting the couch beside him, he took his phone and placed it back onto his lap, pretending to focus on it. Not that he had any struggle or much to focus on. Silence stretched out between them but Misaki’s attention was fully absorbed by his own phone, while Fushimi just wanted to keep going, distractions very much welcomed. He didn’t hate the pauses, he was getting used to dealing with them the moment they upgraded from ‘awkward intervals’ to ‘okay-ish quiet’, but any manifestation of silence while having Misaki around right _now_ was the cue for him to overthink things. And no matter how much he _tried_ to push back the image from a few seconds ago, it kept coming back to him, as if he didn’t need to look directly at the person at his side because his brain could just summon his face anytime he wanted.

Well, not that he actually tried.

One word.

Appealing.

Misaki’s face was too clear before his eyes. Half of it, the side nearer to the back of the couch and the wall, had been swallowed in obscurity. The other half glowed, the dim light of the lantern highlighting the curve of his cheek, the tip of his nose. It accentuated the darkness on top of his eyelids, making his eyes take on a mystique, deep look, and the little shadow under his lower lip, his mouth looking all the more round, full. Something about Misaki’s relentless attitude must have been catching, because he’d been struck with the urge to touch what he had in front of him without pondering what Misaki’s reaction would have been.

But he didn’t; he turned his gaze, gave Misaki his phone back and went on before he did anything stupid.

Now, with a little more space to feel no one else’s breathing but his own, Fushimi was able to spare a glance beside him; Misaki was keeping himself busy navigating the screen, the slightest bit of his tongue poking out from his smile as he studied the modifications that his character underwent.

Then his eyes dragged lower, to the firm contour of Misaki’s shoulder beneath his black t-shirt, and lingered just a moment longer on the sharp edge of his clavicles, noting how the warm light had made both of their skin take on a blazing orange hue. It felt alien to him, who had only his hands to notice the change, but Misaki’s face and arms pulled the color off like he’d been born to wear fire.

_Tch._

Screw him to the moon and back for looking like that.

Damn his stupidly nice and tolerable temper as well.

He bit his lip to avoid clicking his tongue as warmth found him wholly, licked the exposed skin of his wrist just below the hem of his sleeves, and his nape just above his collar.

“So... I can kick ass now?” Misaki broke in gently, watching Fushimi with tentative hope.

“Yes. You can... hit them now.” Fushimi’s voice was a dry murmur.

Misaki’s posture relaxed a little. He didn’t reply, but kept staring at Fushimi with an indecipherable look, until his slack lips broke out in a full grin. “You’re so stiff.”

Fushimi raised his eyebrows questioningly, perplexed by the comment, before clicking his tongue and looking away. “Says the one who had his character killed countless times and couldn’t do a thing about it.”

Misaki let out a snort. “All right, all right. Let’s do this,” he vociferated, all geared up.

Back to business, huh? That he could do.

Taking the lead, Fushimi eventually carried them to where he remembered the most decent treasures were. Sometimes, reaching a specific chest meant they had to deviate off the main path and follow several dead ends, before getting back to the right direction.

Truthfully, he found all the idle coming-and-goings a little tedious, but the beaming look on Misaki’s face every time he got a free item made him think it was worth the hassle.

After an hour, the dungeon had been long left behind and its boss fought and defeated. Misaki had caught up with him, his character being just three levels below Fushimi’s and almost equal in terms of stats.

As for his destructive ways, the only explanation Fushimi had for them was that he had to get some sort of satisfaction from running on fumes all the time.

“Oi, Saru!” Misaki called at some point, earning Fushimi _another_ elbow to his ribs moments after entering a battle against a mini-boss and Misaki having his health points close to being completely depleted. Again.

“Brute.”

“I’m dying! Help me!”

He really was a lost cause. Even if he’d gotten better at avoiding getting killed, he still had a knack for neglecting his health. At least he acknowledged that having his character constantly KO’d wasn’t cool at all, especially after Fushimi told him he’d run out of revive potions.

(He hadn’t.)

“Stop ordering me around, Misaki,” Fushimi said, engaging against a different group of mobs.

“ _Please_!”

“Like that’s any better.”

“C’mon! Stop killing those for a sec! I need to hit them as much as I can so I can level up faster!”

“What? It doesn’t matter. In the end you’ll gain just as much experience—”

“ _GAH_! I’m gonna die!” Misaki yelped, his thumbs tapping rapidly on the screen as he made his character run in circles. “I take it back! Kill ‘em all! Heal me!”

“Which one is it...” Fushimi sighed heavily, his eyelids lowering a little.

To be honest, he felt his brain constantly on edge like this. Misaki was so easily excitable, making everything more galvanizing and dramatic than it actually was, that it made Fushimi’s mind want to be everywhere, pay attention to every detail, regardless of how he chose to ignore Misaki’s pleas. It was a lot like multitasking, while actually being excited about it, like when his squad as a whole was assigned a big mission and things actually got interesting.

Did he just admit he sometimes enjoyed working with his teammates?

Oh, well, at least not out loud.

“Fuck,” Misaki cursed, and it started to feel like what little Fushimi knew babysitting was about when the other couldn’t pause the battle to throw himself a potion for the life of him.

Without much more thought, he resigned himself to the path his fate had taken the very moment he stepped into the reserve. Steering away from the small group of mobs he was fighting, he got close enough to his partner to throw him a potion and cast a protective spell to cut the damage done to him by half, which was good enough to aid Misaki and keep him alive for the time being.

“Thanks!” Misaki breathed a sigh of relief and got back to clashing against the mobs. “Hey, I’m blue!”

“It’s a defensive spell. It halves the damage you take.”

“Woah! What’s that again?”

Fushimi shot him an exasperated look, but Misaki’s eyes were fully focused on his phone. “You’ll die less.”

“Cool!” Misaki said, but Fushimi wasn’t sure he was actually paying attention. He was way too immersed in the game that he hadn’t even touched the snacks between them. “C’mon, give us your best shot! We’re gonna take you on!”

Fushimi honestly couldn’t fathom why the other felt the need to voice his every combative thought to a machine. It was such a dumb thing to do.

“C’mon, Saruhiko!”

But as he turned to his phone to watch the red glow dancing around the hands of Misaki’s character as he thrust his fire sword across his enemies, and the blue glimmer coating his body when one of the mobs struck back, he couldn’t help a wry smirk.

Sparks of red and blue twining together, he joined Misaki with a snicker.

 

 

ʕง ˋ ᴥˊ ʔง

 

 

The storm wasn’t letting up. The temperature continued to drop, and even Misaki had to throw his sweatshirt on, because apparently even a walking spark like him had his limits.

Fushimi also noticed how his commentary had diminished somewhat after he told the other how treasures sometimes blended in with the background. From then on, seemingly taking the advice to heart, Misaki’s face was almost permanently scrunched in deep thought as his eyes scanned every corner of the screen.

It wasn’t a bad look.

Although if he had to be honest, he hadn’t found any of Misaki’s looks _bad_. He’d witnessed a good repertoire of them, having seen him beam, and panic, and rendered speechless with abashment in the span of such little time.

Occasionally, he’d feel Misaki’s eyes on him as well; he’d quickly turn back to his phone when Fushimi caught him staring, or claim to be just looking at Fushimi’s screen even if their layouts looked more of less the same as they moved through the dungeons together with little distance from each other.

Well, not that it really mattered.

Now that he’d caught up with the storyline as well and they had reached the area Fushimi had left off the last time he played solo, they were about to enter a new area that neither of them had explored before.

The jungle-like dungeon they entered was completely deserted. Misaki looked even more absorbed in the game, knowing Fushimi couldn’t warn him of any significant danger, and pointing out how they ‘were in this together’ now.

They had been running around for a while without bumping into any enemies or NPCs, and no matter where they stepped into, there didn’t seem to be any encounter-filled area.

Something didn’t feel right.

Just as they were reaching the end of the path, their characters stopped moving, and a cutscene played.

An ambush — that much was obvious just from watching the group of mobs slowly closing in on them from all sides.

Fushimi heard Misaki made a _‘che’_ noise. When he spoke, it was in a hiss, but the smirk on his face showed no displeasure whatsoever. “They set us a trap.”

Fushimi failed to see what was so fun about it. Ambushes were annoying and unpredictable, and if they caught the player unprepared, which was kind of the point, there was the risk of all the progress made crumbling and going to waste.

Only Misaki would be so happy to fall into a trap.

“How annoying,” Fushimi murmured, but Misaki turned to face him with a devilish grin, his lower lip caught between his teeth.

“C’mon!”

And it was impossible not to end up caught up in his enthusiasm.

Fushimi stared at him for a moment and turned to his phone. “I’m going to end up doing all the work,” he taunted as the cutscene reached its end.

“Hah?! We’ll see about that!”

And who was Fushimi to oppose him?

The battle began, and the first row of enemies threw themselves at the pair, then came a second, a third, and the boss, which proved to be more of a real challenge.

Two hours ago, surviving would have been a struggle. However...

“Don’t hit the big one while its wings are up. It just deflected my attack.”

“Okay! Watch the bugs! They hit you harder if you hit them three times!”

“Hm.”

They had gotten better at complementing their movements, with Fushimi strengthening their rearguard with supportive and long-range magical attacks, and Misaki charging with physical attacks and offensive spells.

“Misaki. Fire.”

“I’m on it!”

More often than not their elbows bumped together as Misaki eloquently moved his arms as if their strategy rested upon how hard he could slam his thumbs against the screen. Soaked by his competiveness, pretense felt like a distant concept; Fushimi let himself go and found himself unconsciously leaning forward, his face inching closer to his phone, his shoulders hunched, trapped in a fit of uncontrollable emotion as his lips pulled into an uncontainable smirk.

Several minutes passed before they could wipe out the minions to concentrate on the boss.

“Woah, he just doesn’t wanna die, huh,” Misaki huffed out. “He keeps healing himself!”

“It’s supposed to be harder since we’re two players against the computer.”

“Heh, whatever, we’re almost done with him!”

“You said it,” Fushimi murmured, his heart flipping with anticipation the redder and emptier the boss’s health bar became with every spell they threw at him. “I’ll attract his attention while you hit it from behind,” he said, louder.

“Gotcha!”

Breaking away, Fushimi drew the boss to him as Misaki positioned himself right behind him. It took a good chunk of time, since the mob would turn toward Misaki every time he landed a hit. However, after repeating the same pattern for a few more times, the boss eventually fell on his back, his health completely depleted, and the moment was followed by the fanfare melody announcing his defeat.

Fushimi leant back with a sigh, his pulse still jumping.

“Wohoo, that was something!” Misaki heaved out in a breath as he dropped his phone on his lap, and stretched his arms above his head, slumping back against the couch with a teeth-baring smile. Letting his hands fall to his sides, he tilted his head to face Fushimi with a dozy look, his cheek pressing against the mattress at his back.

His eyelids were slightly lowered, his eyes reddish and glassy at the corners, tired. Fushimi could only imagine how strained his own looked; not much different from usual, probably.

But it didn’t matter, and as his heart rate fell back to normal, he could only wonder if it was really okay for him to feel all giddy and contented like this.

This was good. He was comfortable.

Too comfortable for his own good. He almost felt a bit antsy.

“I can’t feel my fingers.”

The sudden impulse to laugh at that was hard to bypass, but Fushimi managed to quell it with a snort. “When was the last time you played this much?”

“I don’t know...” Misaki drawled lazily. “I never play this much, just... when Kamamoto and I have some time off—” he stopped, the sudden _beep_ coming from his phone making him roll his eyes and the corners of his lips twitch up, like he’d been expecting it. “Yeah, because of _that_ ,” he huffed, staring down at his lap and lifting his phone unconcernedly. “Just ten percent battery left. It’s not gonna make it to another battle like this.”

Fushimi wasn’t against that. He could feel the fatigue prickling at his own eyes, after all. “Let’s just save and call it a day.”

“Yeah.”

Upon saving their progress, Misaki closed the app and unplugged the cable connecting their phones. Fushimi did the same with his and watched the other roll the cable and tuck it back into his backpack. Only when they sat in silence a few seconds after was Fushimi reminded of the storm outside, and Misaki of the bag of chips placed in the small gap between them.

“That was fun. We gotta do it again sometime,” he commented lightly as he shoved his hand inside the bag and pulled out a handful of chips. “I barely needed you to heal me in that last fight, huh?”

“It was about time,” Fushimi scoffed and Misaki huffed a laugh. “But yeah, you stood perfectly on your own.”

While his vigor was no match for Misaki’s, he found he didn’t mind the flippant chitchat or listening to the other boast about how great their match had been. He too acknowledged the whole thing had been a success, and as Misaki got back to his phone fiddling with something on the screen, he found the sluggish quiet that settled upon them captivating.

Feeling his inhibition slip away, a small twinge of hunger nagging at him, he dared reach into the bag of chips.

The peace lasted but a fleeting instant, and when Misaki’s hand dove inside as well, their hands meeting in the cramped space, the slightest brush of their knuckles had them both jolting slightly. Fushimi kept it there, whereas Misaki’s eyes widened as he turned to face him with an alarmed look and pulled his hand out right away, like Fushimi’s had something infectious.

Fushimi would have felt offended — even if he did it out of courtesy — if he wasn’t more taken aback by Misaki’s reaction and how hard he was trying to bring his eyes back on his phone.

“Sorry!” Misaki spluttered, his fingers curling and forming a twitchy fist on his lap.

Fushimi couldn’t help but click his tongue in annoyance as he pulled his hand out slowly with a few snacks. Seriously, they escaped one clumsy situation and they were already getting themselves into another.

“What are you apologizing for?”

“Um, I-I thought... i-it’s getting cold, huh? ‘m freezing!” Misaki stammered with a tense little laugh. As he brought a hand over his clothed elbow, rubbing it, he forced himself to look at Fushimi. “I’m gonna check the fire.”

Before Fushimi could think of an answer, Misaki had already tossed his phone aside and risen from the couch like a bolt, heading for the farthest corner of the room to stoke the small fire in the fireplace.

His actions kept the room decently warm, so Fushimi wasn’t complaining, but he did feel _strange_ when he saw Misaki push the sleeves of his sweatshirt up to his elbows and tug the hem of the collar around his neck like it was asphyxiating him.

_Freezing, huh..._

He looked away; regarding the chips in his hand, he chewed them in silence, until a different ding sound drew his eyes to Misaki’s phone.

“You got a text,” he noted aloud, but Misaki didn’t turn, and kept fiddling with the charcoal with the iron poker almost aimlessly. “Misaki,” he said again, louder.

Misaki reacted at that. When he did turn, his eyebrows were arched up and his eyes had a hazy look to them, bordering on innocent. His lips parted slightly. “Hah?”

_Soft._

“Your phone.”

Misaki blinked, his eyebrows twitching questioningly.

Fushimi nodded at his phone.

“O-oh... hold on,” Misaki murmured as he patted the side of his pants with his free hand, shaking the stray ashes off his palm.

Fushimi lowered his gaze. It wasn’t like he was actively snooping around Misaki’s phone, but his curiosity piqued a bit when he craned his head and observed that the preview of the text, which took up about three quarters of the screen, had the sender identified as ‘Chitose’.

The slightest glimpse at the preview of the message itself made his breath catch.

His body stiffened instantly, and he had to do a double take to make sure he’d read what he thought he read.

**[19:39] Chitose:  
** hey ROMEO u kissed The Cop yet?? (๑◔ 3◔๑ ) ♡☺✌

 

Shit.

He wasn’t expecting his heart to give a sudden leap, and he gritted his teeth, swallowing back a curse, because he shouldn’t be feeling so distraught over a bunch of words and symbols on a _text_.

The soft, metal clink that reached his ears as Misaki leaned the poker against the wall gave him a few seconds of clarity to break from his stupor and straighten back into place before Misaki was approaching him with renewed inner peace.

He saw his shadow closing in on him out of the corner of his eye, but he didn’t turn to look at Misaki as he sat down on the couch with a flop. He didn’t look when the bag of chips rustled as Misaki slowly dipped his hand inside either, or when he began to hear the crunching sound of his teeth working on the snacks.

But then all the noises Misaki was producing suddenly stopped, and when nothing but the rain against the roof and the crackling of charcoal could be heard, Fushimi risked a quick look.

Misaki was facing down, his eyes wide, glued to the screen of the phone which he clutched with his other hand with enviable stability. Not a single hair of his was moving, like the seconds had stopped ticking for him.

It was alarming.

“Oi,” Fushimi murmured, tentatively craning his head down to take a better look at Misaki’s face, watching his tan skin beginning to turn red. The color was so intense and spread throughout his whole face and neck all too fast, that it didn’t even look like just a normal blush.

It was more like he was forgetting how to breathe.

Fushimi frowned, his eyes lingered down for a moment. The jerky staccato of Misaki’s heart thudding against his thorax made the sweatshirt over his chest pulsate, but other than that it wasn’t rising.

“ _Misaki_ ,” he said, much louder, and it was all it took for Misaki to finally blink out of his trance, seemingly reacting to the change in Fushimi’s voice.

Then Misaki swallowed, _hard_ , and before Fushimi could grimace at the sound or say anything else, Misaki was drawing in a sharp breath through his nose and dropping his phone on his lap. His shoulders began to tremble and one of his hands flew to his chest, pounding his fist rapidly against his sternum.

“Just spit it out,” Fushimi said, slightly concerned by the sight of Misaki keeping his lips shut as he was overcome by a fit of coughing, but the other shook his head no. His eyes squeezed tight as he raised a hand in a ‘hold on’ fashion and lurched forward and finally opened his mouth, the room filling with an intense bout of coughing as he fought for air.

Alarming, really.

Leaving Misaki by himself for a brief moment, Fushimi stood and reached for the table, grabbing the water bottle that he’d been given before. He’d even briefly psyched himself up to ready a hand to pat Misaki’s back. But it wasn’t necessary, and when he retook his seat Misaki was leaning back against the couch with a deep sigh and heavy breaths fading into silence as the color of his face gradually turned back to normal.

He still nudged the bottle toward Misaki. “Here.”

Misaki’s hand was trembling when he grabbed it and downed a big chug. It was painful to watch.

“Go ahead and choke on the water now.”

Misaki’s face scrunched up and he abruptly pulled the bottle away from his lips with a gasp. “ _Ack_ —fuck... y-yeah, th-thanks...” Despite the frowny look, his voice held no bite.

Misaki abandoned the bottle on the floor, between their feet. Sparing a glare at his phone and not bothering to type out a response, he tossed it toward the rest of his things, muttering curses under his breath which Fushimi assumed weren’t aimed at him.

Fushimi’s immediate thought was that there must have been something wrong with him — seeing Misaki’s reaction shouldn’t have flipped a switch inside of him, but he couldn’t help himself.

“Who was it?” he asked, founding his axis and feeling daring, but not counting on getting the truth, judging by Misaki’s reaction.

“Eh?” Misaki turned to him slowly, eyes wide and blinking, and a lopsided smile complementing his visible puzzlement. “N-no one! A friend!”

_Knew it._

Something about that response struck him as entertaining, and Fushimi felt the sudden urge to laugh. He didn’t, but _almost_. And what if he did? It was only fair, after everything Misaki made him go through. Misaki owed it to him. Misaki wasn’t the only distressed one.

“Which one is it again?”

“A friend! I-it was a friend...”

“So?” Fushimi crossed is arms over his chest and leaned back with nonchalant grace, his head held high. “What’d they want?”

“Nothing!” Misaki mirrored his posture and crossed his arms as well, his chin tucked to his chest, his cheeks growing pink — a _normal_ pink, this time — by the second. “He... h-he’s asking if we’re okay, ‘s all.”

Fushimi hummed, as if considering Misaki’s explanation with an air of superiority. “You aren’t going to respond?”

“Eh?” Misaki blinked. It was as if the extent of his own little lie had dawned upon him then, and he realized what he’d actually said. “A-ah... n-no, it’s fine...” Looking away, he pulled his knees up, his form now resembling an offended cocoon. “Totsuka-san can tell him.”

Fushimi stared, his lips quirking up ever so slightly. Really, Misaki could have just told him how his friend had this erroneous idea about them, and it wouldn’t be such a big deal. The prospect of kissing someone was just so distant, that he couldn’t even take it seriously. Perhaps that was why he kept pushing, because no matter the answer, it was simply unfeasible. And Misaki’s reactions were amusing enough to make up for the initial restlessness that came upon him.

But he felt his smile turn down. They could simply have had to disregard it as some misconception that didn’t need to be dealt with.

That would have been the best, so he couldn’t grasp why he was feeling so annoyed all of a sudden.

Whatever, it was none of his business. Why Misaki’s friend would even suggest such a thing was beyond him. Was he an idiot? Or perhaps Misaki got like _this_ with way more people than he gave him credit for, and his friend was counting on that?

The thought was a little bit vexing. Fushimi wasn’t some toy to play with.

It was that, or Misaki’s friend was just really shitty.

He’d made clear they weren’t on the same page the moment he asked Fushimi to play with him, and Fushimi couldn’t help but feel terribly self-conscious and stupid afterwards even if no one but him was aware of it and he managed to roll with it in the end.

It _was_ stupid, it had been just a little more than a week, but feeling like this wasn’t actually that bad.

_Just wait until it gets bad..._

Anyway, it was better if Misaki was eluding the whole thing as well. Taunting him was fun, but Fushimi wasn’t about to convert a capricious attraction into something tangible. Admitting he had the remote idea of what looked like one was bad enough. And it was even worse that that stupid message wasn’t leaving his head and he hadn’t even tried enough to force himself to turn his attention from Misaki’s lips.

He didn’t have to move his head, keeping it lined up to his back. From out the corner of his eyes, Misaki’s bottom lip looked a bit dry, he’d noticed so before, but then he would bit it and ran his teeth over it, usually when he was about to say something.

“The room okay?” Misaki asked suddenly, glancing up in that sheepish way, as though he was some little fox.

Fushimi saw it coming but was still caught unprepared, blinking a few times as he focused back on Misaki’s face wholly and feeling his breathing stutter at the prospect of being caught staring. Not that he _was_ or anything, and if he was, Misaki didn’t seem to notice.

“It’s fine.”

This, too, will pass.

Misaki brought his head back to the front again, smiling in that innocent, fulfilled way, like he was highly satisfied about something he’d done, however simple it had been.

This _wasn’t_ passing.

It took him great lengths to realize and admit he was fond of the few people he’d allowed into his life. But every time it happened it was the same way. Being fond of people was hard, an ambush of sensations mingling, warring each other, closing in on him, the immediate reactions stirring up inside not always matching what he ended up showing.

And he’d always end up caught in the middle of it all.

Something about that observation brought his mind back to the present.

It was so easy to fall into Misaki’s rhythm and forget what he was really here for.

He willed his body and psyche to unwind, and summoned in his head the words he hadn’t managed to deliver before the phone contact with Misaki was lost.

He had to keep his job, after all.

“Misaki.” A flicker of surprise crossed Misaki’s expression as he whipped his head up to face Fushimi with a curious look. “Do you have any enemies?” His tone was both lax and firm, and Misaki had to have sensed it, the vestiges of casualness in his own face toning down.

“What do you mean... ‘enemies’?”

“Someone who doesn’t like you.”

Misaki frowned, tilting his head a bit, eyes searching for something more specific. “No?”

“That doesn’t sound very convincing.”

“Ha-ah?” he stammered, the muscles on his face relaxing. “No, I don’t — I don’t think so?” His voice came out a mumble then, and his gaze slowly darted away to the side until he was left staring at the floor beneath his feet almost absently.

The room suddenly fell quiet, but just as quickly Misaki’s voice pierced it.

“Um... I’ve been wanting to ask you something.”

His unfortunate choice of words would have distressed Fushimi greatly, if Misaki didn’t look so serious, his brow tensed, nerves nonexistent. When he turned to Fushimi again, he looked too collected for his own good, but somehow that in itself was relieving, and Fushimi raised his eyebrows slightly, making the subtle motion for him to go on.

“That day... Mikoto-san mentioned someone. It was... Mu-Mune...” he paused, earning Fushimi some time to react and intervene.

“Munakata.”

Misaki blinked, his expression softening. “Yeah! Mikoto-san said you were his... um... is he... your father?” he asked, with one of the most naïve and serious look Fushimi had ever seen, not a single hint of a smile giving away the impression of it being a joke, and Fushimi immediately felt himself choke, his breath sticking in his throat.

He cleared his throat and somehow managed to dodge the mental image of Munakata Reisi as his actual father — not that he would have been worse than what he got, though, but still. “He’s my boss.”

“Hah?! Then... Scepter 4’s boss?”

Fushimi gave a nod. Misaki looked puzzled.

“Oh... then... you guys know Mikoto-san?”

“I don’t.”

“He seemed to know you?”

Fushimi shrugged. “I’d never seen that man before.”

“But he knows your boss, right?”

“Apparently.”

“That’s weird...” Misaki turned to the front, frowning lightly, his gaze drifting off to the floor as if deep in thought. Suddenly, his eyes went wide, all lit up like the gears turning in his head had clicked.

“What?”

“Eh?” Misaki blinked a few times before snapping his head back to Fushimi. “A-ah... no, I was just thinking...”

“About what?”

“Was it because... Mikoto-san was...” Misaki’s mumbling trailed off, his eyes drifting away from Fushimi, whose interest piqued, eyeing Misaki with curiosity.

“Was he in prison or something?” Suoh’s records were actually pretty clean, but he still asked, for good measure.

Misaki sought his gaze again, looking alarmed. “No!”

“But he was in a gang,” Fushimi elaborated as-a-matter-of-factly, watching Misaki’s eyes go wide again, but the fact that Fushimi had held that specific information didn’t seem to daunt the other at all. If anything, Misaki looked surprised, but more at ease, almost content, the edges of his mouth curving up.

“Yeah! How did you know?”

Fushimi shot him a half-lidded look. Getting the hint, Misaki’s cheeks pushed up, a full smile finally tensing his lips. “Ugh, yeah, right.” He shook his head in a helpless way, uncrossing his arms to wave a hand dismissively. “How would you _not_ know.”

Well, he didn’t, at first. “You mentioned Homra when I first came here,” Fushimi admitted with a shrug. “And it was in our database when I was looking into everyone’s employee information, anyway.”

“Hah?” Those words snapped him back to Fushimi, his stare searching as his eyes narrowed into slits. Although not in a hostile way, they were inquiring, waiting for answers. “You... snooped around about me?”

“Not just you.” Fushimi rolled his eyes, belittling the whole issue. “And it was strictly professional.”

“So... what’d it say... about me?” Misaki asked with hesitance, almost shyly.

Fushimi stared at him, making sure he’d actually been asked that, the confirmation sinking in the way Misaki’s eyebrows twitched ever so slightly as his fingers fiddled with the hem of his sweatshirt.

“Sucks at video games. Compulsive texter,” he replied, reveling in the sight of Misaki’s face contorting from a look of sincere curiosity to utter disappointment, his brow furrowing and mouth pursing into a pout.

“I don’t—”

“Afraid of staying after hours.”

That garnered him an elbow to his side. “Hey!”

“In denial about it.”

Misaki only pushed against him harder, but beneath that annoyed look was the hint of a smile. “Shut up.”

“Then what do you think it said?” Fushimi asked, feeling his own mouth twitch. “You’re clean.”

“Damn right I am.” Misaki scowled for a moment, and then he leaned back with a sigh, his chin tilted up as he stared at the ceiling. “So, that was your boss... you think they know each other because Mikoto was in a gang?”

Fushimi didn’t add to the deduction, even if he did feel a bit curious and Misaki had a point. Silence spread between them instead. It didn’t last long, and when Misaki turned to him again, a grin had found its way back to his face, granting him a mischievous look.

“Heh... did you know some guys from some rival gang showed up here once? About like... five months ago.”

Fushimi turned to him as well, openly curious. “No. What happened?”

“They were looking for Mikoto-san and Totsuka-san. Lala gave ‘em what they deserved,” Misaki beamed, his smile growing. “That’s what happened.”

Fushimi’s eyebrows quirked up, because honestly, he did not find _gang_ and _Lala_ in the same sentence comforting at all. “You told me she never attacked anyone.”

“She didn’t!” Misaki lurched forwards, facing Fushimi squarely, a rush of emotion surging through him. “They’re bad people! And she just stood on her legs, no big deal. But she was all mighty and big — she wasn’t even _that_ big, but those stuck-ups were shitting bricks!”

Honestly, as much as Fushimi had to stand on the rightful side, he couldn’t find it in his heart to chide Misaki for taking pride in Lala’s achievements. Morally speaking, he was to object it. Personally, were he in his position he would have probably found the situation amusing as well, the outcome appealing; dealing with brainless hooligans driven by nonsensical rules was just bothersome, so anything to give them a dose of their own medicine was more than welcome, and he wasn’t the most scrupulous one out there, anyway.

Misaki was given the benefit of the doubt, but the fact that Fushimi was unaware of this piece of information the other was disclosing still bothered him a little. His mind went back to the current claims then, which described the attacks as recent and whose claimants were clean.

“There wasn’t any of that in our archive.”

Misaki’s expression turned solemn, his arms crossing over his chest. “Mikoto-san and Totsuka-san didn’t want to make it bigger than it was, so they never reported them.” He shrugged. “I don’t think they did, either. They have their own things to take care of... ‘s far as I know Mikoto-san never had any problems but... I don’t know who those guys were, but they aren’t exactly... clean, you know.”

Misaki paused for a moment, and then he was smiling openly again, his voice taking on a prideful note.

“Anyway, looks like they had some unfinished business with Homra, or whatever... but Lala gave them a good scare so I doubt they’re coming back.”

Fushimi hummed amusingly at the image. “So much for a first impression.”

“Heh, yeah...” To his surprise, there was a stutter in Misaki’s voice before he went quiet, unfolding his arms and resting his hands on his lap.

Fushimi watched him bit his lip and fiddle with his nails, his head hanging low, but he didn’t deem the fidgety behavior important until Misaki spoke again.

“I... I saw you, before...” Misaki finally said, and Fushimi perked up, puzzled, turning his head to face him squarely. “Some months ago...”

Misaki raised his gaze and met his eye, looking abashed, his shoulders slightly pushed up.

“L-last year, when I started working here, there was...” He paused, bringing a finger to his cheek. Fushimi remained silent, not wanting to miss any word or gesture, too absorbed in what he was internalizing to interject. Half of him was curious, the other uncertain and a bit confused. “There was a ceremony, or something... for the thing with the bridge.”

As Misaki went on, he acknowledged the accuracy in his words. The memory only became more vivid with each detail, as if he was there again, and his mind immediately flashed back to that ceremony held just outside the park that he’d been required to assist last year.

All the pieces fell into place rather quickly, and he remembered himself standing amidst a small group of attendants and witnesses he’d never seen before, pretending to listen to some speech he’d been too uninterested to actually pay attention to.

“There were around a hundred people,” Misaki continued, “and you never looked away from your phone, not even once.” He couldn’t help a chuckle, seemingly finding that amusing. “Seriously, it looked like you were the only one who didn’t wanna be there.”

Fushimi’s eye twitched.

Among all those people was apparently Misaki, somewhere with the rest of the rangers he supposed, which he hadn’t bothered to register either.

For a fleeting moment he wondered if he would still be here if he had.

So, he wasn’t just imagining there had been something _off_ when Fushimi first met him, and the way Misaki’s stance had deliberately changed upon taking a closer look at him and understanding Fushimi hadn’t come to deal with Homra. But none of that had been as meaningful as it was now.

Yet the first conclusion to escape his mouth was another.

“You’ve been... thinking about me all the past year?”

“Wh—” The curve of Misaki’s cheekbones immediately flared with color, and then his face contorted from abashment to a look of scandalous horror, raw aversion wrinkling his brow. “ _No_! D-don’t put it like that! It just surprised me to see you here, that’s all!”

For someone who just didn’t want it to look like what Fushimi said was true, he really seemed more perturbed than embarrassed or cornered. And judging by his mortified look, what Fushimi implicated hadn’t crossed his mind at all.

Unable to scoff at his reaction, however comical, Fushimi didn’t find any reason to doubt him, his verdict unspoken as he let Misaki speak and defend his honor.

“A-and it wasn’t just you! At the end of it there was a... a...” Misaki stammered, striving for words. “This guy — this dude with a ponytail, and glasses!” he said, pointing at his eyes, then raising both hands to his head, making a ‘sweeping’ motion to the right. “A-and another one with crazy bangs! I remember ‘cause y’all went to talk to that tall _blue coat_ guy that was talking with the governor when everything was over...”

“What _blue coat_?” Fushimi asked, half genuinely curious, half testing.

“It was... another guy with crazy bangs,” Misaki brought his hand to his forehead, now waving it to the left, “but with glasses, tall—” and Fushimi couldn’t help but snort, cutting Misaki midsentence, for there was only one guy that fit that simple yet signature description. He could almost see him, pushing his way through his mind to his eyes, beaming at Fushimi for being able to hold a decent conversation with someone outside their squad.

His irrepressible reaction earned him a puzzled look, and as he focused back on Misaki, he noticed he was being observed expectantly.

“The Captain.”

“E-eh? Wh-wh—” Misaki stuttered, blinking rapidly. “Captain...?”

“My boss.”

Misaki stayed quiet for a moment, letting the revelation sink in, after which his eyes grew a bit wider. “Wh-what... that’s... that Munakata guy? _That_ guy was your _boss_?”

The world was a small place, and so was their city, so Fushimi wasn’t exactly taken aback by Misaki’s disclosure. He still couldn’t ignore the fact that reliving that moment knowing that Misaki had been there, felt odd, peculiar. Maybe it was the fact that Misaki had enough brains to remember such details. Or maybe because, acquaintances in between, they were just bound to meet, sooner or later, one way or another.

“Who did you think he was?” Fushimi asked, picking up where Misaki left off.

“I don’t know! It could have been anyone!”

Fushimi tipped his chin down, throwing him an unimpressed look through his eyelashes. “He literally introduced himself at the beginning.”

“I-I was running late, okay?! I wasn’t there when the whole thing started!”

“Heh, that’s pretty irresponsible of you,” Fushimi teased, his lips spreading into a smug smirk.

“Shut up! I was feeding Lala!” Misaki barked, raising his hands and forming two fists at chest level, as if he was ready to defend himself. “And like you’re one to talk — you weren’t even wearing your uniform! What d’ya call that?”

Fushimi didn’t recoil, keeping his stare half-lidded and defiant, his tone brimming with conceit. “Operation? Undercover mission? You said you were late, how would you know what _I_ was doing there?”

Misaki looked away with a ‘ _che_ ’ noise. “Whatever!” he barked. Not so long after, he was biting his lip, the edges of his lips drawing up. “This is... some crazy shit, like, destiny or something.”

“It’s just a coincidence. This city isn’t as big as it looks.”

“Y-yeah... guess you’re right, but... I mean... all of this, too... being here. I wouldn’t have dreamed of this when I was asked to take care of the librarian’s dog when I was sixteen.”

Fushimi stared at him. “What?”

And then, it just happened.

With no games to distract themselves with, they talked.

They talked about how Misaki had gotten a temporary job of sorts at his neighborhood animal shelter when a teenager, and how Fushimi came to work for Scepter 4 after hacking into the WiFi signal of his next-door neighbor, a woman by the name of Hirasaka Douhan who happened to share an acquaintance with none other than Munakata Reisi’s right hand and Scepter 4’s Lieutenant, who would later become his superior.

(It hadn’t been a pleasant revelation, and combined, those women looked _way scarier_.)

But it all led him to this moment in the end, to him sitting alongside someone else, talking about their respective coworkers, friends, or whichever tag suited them best.

Misaki told him about Anna, who turned out to be in his first year of middle school and under his friend’s care — the one with the bar, Kusanagi — and who had taken upon herself to name most of the animals that let themselves be approached after an episode with a colt ended up with Suoh sentencing the pitiful animal to live under the prospect of being a walking dish. Fushimi vaguely remembered having heard about it in headquarters, and he supposed it was the same horse that had been involved in an ‘incident’ with Domyoji that had left him incapacitated and off duty for a week.

They talked about hobbies, Fushimi claiming he had none, but after some prodding he had to admit he found some form of recreation in the knowledge he poured on the websites he coded. And to Misaki, that was enough of a pastime.

They had dinner on the couch, rather, the leftovers of lunch leftovers, but they still tasted good. They even had desert in the form of tangerines that Misaki fished out of his backpack, that healthy dwarf.

Fushimi didn’t have a lot to say, which was good, because Misaki didn’t stop talking once he’d gotten started, his stories a mix of gesticulations and sound effects. He was loud, but also laughed a lot — especially upon finding out that he was _older_ by just a few months — so there was balance. Fushimi let him bask in that little fact, and if the way Misaki occasionally tripped over his words made his chest squeeze a bit and his lips quirk up, it was because the fatigue had started to take a toll on him, and he couldn’t bring himself to care enough to return to his usual resting face when the muscles on his face were pulling and stretching on their own like it was the most instinctive and effortless thing.

(But, _no_ , Misaki had no effect on him. And if Fushimi looked back on it he could say he was _really_ tired, oblivious to his body’s reactions.)

The thud by the entrance made them pause at some point. When they turned toward the sound, they saw Lala move away from the door and lean against one of the windows. And so the line between the inside and the outside were just a couple of steps and a push away.

The rain had stopped as well, but they didn’t make any effort to move.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, I miscalculated and had to add a sixth (and final) chapter! :D
> 
> Thank you for sticking with this story! ♥ You give me life! (-////-)


	6. Findings

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There’s a small scene near the end that references to Benzai’s short story, which can be found [here](http://chilly-territory.tumblr.com/post/146752100320/k-all-characters-benzai-yuujirou-by-miyazawa). ^^

It was chilly and fresh, but he wasn’t cold.

There was light on the other side of Fushimi’s eyelids, and as he came to, his ears picking up on what sounded like the matinal chirp of birds, he assumed it was morning.

To his surprise, waking up somewhere that wasn’t his room wasn’t as bad as he expected.

He wasn’t drained enough to forget he hadn’t gone back to his apartment, and that Misaki was supposed to be with him. He could hear him, snoring softly somewhere in the cabin — rather close.

He shifted, slowly becoming aware of his limbs, the hard mattress beneath his thighs and the back of the couch against the length of his spine. He vaguely remembered having his arms crossed over his chest as he dozed off, and at some point they must have fallen lax over his lap, his wrists loosely crossed over each other and his palms up and relaxed.

However rigid he felt in his seated position though, he couldn’t remember having woken up during the night, and that was a good sign.

There was softness against the side of his face, an unfamiliar warmth that was too comforting to recoil from and pleasant enough to lean into. It tickled his cheek, it drew him in, and when he turned his head, he couldn’t resist rubbing his face, nose and lips against it, taking in the smell of shampoo and cologne—

_Wait._

Fushimi pulled back and his eyes snapped open.

Big mistake.

The influx of light streaming through the windows and painting the room gold made him flinch, and he snapped his eyes shut again. The silky sensation against the side of his face was completely gone as he straightened up his head and brought a hand to his forehead to shield his vision.

The temples of his glasses were buried into the skin between his head and ear, and he took the extra seconds of post-sleep haze to massage the area thoroughly as he attempted to part his eyelids once more, blinking rapidly to adjust and speed up the process.

Pushing his glasses back up, he tried opening his eyes fully again, but ended up squinting. And that was good enough, because at least he could begin to make out the blurry contour of things, of the walls of the room, of the table in front of him, of the cupboard behind it.

Only then he became aware of the weight leaning on his side, of the arm pressed against his own, of the feeling of Misaki’s cheek against his shoulder. His breath hitched when he turned to identify whatever had been cushioning his own face for a while, and found Misaki’s hair tickling the tip of his nose.

His brain sparked, swinging between drowsiness and incertitude, and as the somnolence slowly finished slipping off of him, he garnered enough lucidity to notice how close they were.

Very.

For a moment, Fushimi stayed quiet, motionless like a rock, not quite sure of what to do or what to move first or how. Torn between the lulling comfort and the eventual need to brave the outcome of his choices, he began to feel himself panic a little, not fancying the idea of Misaki waking up to the tremors of his own body thumping to the stuttering rhythm of his self-aware heartbeat.

But disorientated and paralyzed as he was, he wasn’t struck by the sudden urge to pull him away. It helped that Misaki appeared to be still sleeping soundly, his arms limp at his sides. Fushimi, little by little more clearheaded, willed himself to calm down.

When he finally attempted to move, steering away from Misaki’s body, Misaki’s weight immediately followed after.

He straightened back to place.

Slowly, he raised his free arm to slip a hand between them. Replacing the shoulder that’s supporting Misaki’s face with his free hand, he held Misaki’s head and pushed at him with both hands when he was able to, maneuvering his weight until he was sure his body could stay upright on its own. Misaki’s head lolled back against the couch and a bit toward his shoulder.

Fushimi wiggled back a little, withdrawing from Misaki’s frame and studying his expression for a brief moment.

Misaki looked... in peace. Although, what was he expecting, seriously.

There were only a few more shameful moments that Fushimi could think of than to be caught in one’s sleep, and he had to thank how lucky he was to have woken up early enough to see Misaki’s vulnerable state and not the other way around.

Regardless, he found himself watching Misaki’s immutable face for a bit more. Most of the wrinkles of expression that his face would brim with when awake were gone. His lips were slightly parted, his chest rising and falling to the rhythm of his soft breathing. His hair was slightly disheveled where it had been pressed against Fushimi’s shoulder, but it didn’t detract his appearance, or his charm. If anything, it looked good on him.

Misaki wasn’t going easy on him, and he wasn’t even trying.

It was almost frustrating, bordering on cruel, how inevitable that was.

His bangs were lower than usual, covering a bit more of his forehead and one of his eyes. Most of it was swept to the right as always — but there was a stray strand curling clumsily to the left, against the natural flow of the rest, when it should have been falling to the other side.

And Fushimi didn’t really care, yet the scrupulous side of him itched to fix it, finding that singularity alone completely unharmonious.

He couldn’t be fully awake; if he was, he would have been able to stop himself. But when his hand reached out and found the offending lock of hair, he tucked it back into place.

There was a match between the silky texture beneath his fingertips and what was left of the ghostly warmth lingering on the side of his face.

As if reacting to his touch, Misaki’s eyelids twitched a little. The soft moan rumbling in his throat had Fushimi freezing and jerking his fingers away like Misaki had done to him when their hands had touched the night before.

Another croaky purr escaped Misaki’s mouth, and then his lips were moving, his brow creasing ever so slightly. Fushimi presumed he was raving in his sleep, but then he made out the words.

“Hm... th’ _fiahn_...” Misaki managed, his words slurring, “ _fahn_... fire...”

_Very mindful._

Fushimi felt his shoulders drop, relieved. “The fire’s off,” he spoke softly, comforted that his voice came out just above a whisper. “You put it out last night.”

Seemingly satisfied, Misaki let out a little hum. His brow relaxed, and Fushimi noticed how the weight of his head went slightly slacker against the back of the couch.

With that settled, he decided to stand up.

He hadn’t bothered to remove his holster, and now his belly stung a little where the contour of one of his knives had been pressing into his skin, but it was nothing he couldn’t stand. After making his way to the toilet room to attend to his needs and wash his face, he took the chance to spare a quick glance at the mirror to fix his appearance and smooth his hair.

The washbasin in the main room was his next stop, after grabbing the bottled water from the day before and taking a big chug to rinse his mouth out. It was after turning on the tap and letting the faucet run for a few seconds that he heard a rustle of fabric, and when he turned around, Misaki’s eyes slowly cracked open.

“Saruhiko...?” His voice was husky, heavy with somnolence as he rubbed his eyes with the back of his hands. “Mornin’... ‘s it morning?”

Fushimi stayed silent, taking in the greeting; spending the night somewhere that wasn’t his place apparently didn’t sway him much, as long as he wasn’t exposed or endangered in any way, but having another person greeting him ‘good morning’ thrown into that equation at the same time stirred something in him, and he wasn’t sure what to respond. He hadn’t planned to get this far.

Before he could trouble himself further though, Misaki had already made his way to the windows and taken a look by himself. With his hands curled into fists, he stretched his arms up above his head, groaning audibly.

“Damn, I slept like a log!” he cheered.

With how close they were huddled up to each other though, Fushimi refused to believe Misaki hadn’t thrashed about a little at all, but he refrained from voicing it.

When he let his arms flop down and turned around, Fushimi saw him pressing his lips tightly together before he parted them to ask, “You slept well?”

“I managed.”

That alone made the corners of Misaki’s mouth twitch up, a satisfied little smile surfacing.

They barely held their gaze for a brief moment before he began fidgeting in his spot, his fingers reaching for the front waistline of his pants.

“Um... be right back, nature calls,” he said with a slight flush as he passed the table and fled to the toilet room, Fushimi snorting behind him as he shut the door. Sure, he could wait; it wasn’t like they had any hurry, at least not from his side unless Misaki worked on Sundays too, unlike him, which at the moment didn’t seem to be the case.

Speaking of which, he didn’t know how late it was. Fushimi instinctively reached for his pants pocket, feeling nothing there. He glanced over the couch, finding his phone next to the spot where he’d been sitting — _sleeping_.

He took a few quick steps toward it when he found the notification LED light was blinking and he’d gotten an unread e-mail. It wasn’t flagged as urgent, but the sender was marked as Enomoto. While there was not much he could do right then, the need to satiate his curiosity if only for a moment was there, and he quickly tapped it open before the last of his battery was drained.

Apparently, the servers were up again, and as per his request, Enomoto had attached all three complaints in PDF form, including Domyoji’s, as well as the witnesses’ records. He quickly skimmed over them.

_This one’s clean, too, huh..._

Three pictures appended to the file corresponded to the claimants’ identities, and Fushimi checked them out as well. The first two files depicted the two people he was acquainted with upon having searched their records. The third and last one was obviously new, some well-built guy in his thirties.

Fushimi sighed, knowing he would have to take another exhaustive, _better_ look back home, eventually.

Honestly, he had to admit if it wasn’t for Misaki he wasn’t sure how much more of this stupid case he could tolerate. There was only so much boredom he could take.

The adrenaline he always craved from his job wasn’t exactly coming from this case.

Reluctantly shoving the image of Misaki to the back of his mind, he lazily rolled his thumb over the screen again, going back and bringing up one of the other two faces, the second witness, a woman in her mid-twenties, tops—

“Why do you have a picture of her?”

Misaki’s voice was too close and sharp, devoid of the throaty lethargy shaking his words a minute ago. Fushimi wasn’t prepared for it, hadn’t even heard him get out of the toilet room, and felt his heart jump when he turned to find him behind him.

Knowingly or not, they had drawn out many reactions out of each other over the last days, but the look on Misaki’s face was one he’d never seen before, and it immobilized him.

His brow was tense, his lips slightly parted but jaw tight, and anything reminding Fushimi of the soft and spacey look he was so used to was gone. In its place, those hazel eyes previously sleepy and dreamy, were wide and almost cold as they fixed on his phone, a mixture of confusion and what Fushimi thought was displeasure marring his forehead.

There were two tangerines trapped in his hands, ceding to his squeeze slowly. Fushimi thought they might explode any moment.

“Do you know her?” he ventured.

Misaki pressed his lips together, his brow twisting even more. “She’s... the girlfriend of one of the assholes that came here. She’s with them,” he gritted out and then looked up at Fushimi with hunting eyes.

Fushimi didn’t show it, but he found himself faltering, being the object of such intense scrutiny, those piercing eyes stabbing his own like they could match the knives beneath his shirt.

As he processed Misaki’s words however, it didn’t take him long to put two and two together.

“‘Them’... _that_ gang?” Fushimi narrowed his gaze. “Are you sure?”

He didn’t need to say more; Misaki was nodding firmly, as if he wanted to make it quick.

“Yeah! That’s...” He turned to the phone. “It’s her, she... she has that mole on her nose! I remember — shit... why do you have her picture?” he asked again, as resolute as the first time, expression unchanged.

For a brief moment, Fushimi strove for words. “She’s one of the witnesses,” he said low.

He couldn’t describe how easy it felt to breathe again when he saw the taut nerves on Misaki’s face soften.

“She’s one of...” Misaki trailed off, his jaw going slack as he slowly looked back up, as if taking in the fact. The peace on his features lasted just a couple of seconds, and then his eyes were wide again, his brow furrowing, not quite in anger but more in exasperation and disbelief as he screeched, “ _She’s one of the witnesses_!?”

And when the echo of his own words reached Fushimi’s ears, he could almost hear the ‘click’ in his head as well.

Their gazes held, one pair of eyes more perplexed than the other.

“Huh?” they breathed out in unison, their heads snapping back to the phone, each reaching their own conclusion.

Fushimi gritted his teeth. His brain was pulsing at high speed, his psyche struggling with mixed feelings, not knowing with total precision whether to feel more supplied or angered.

Suddenly, there was so much to process. He was just _this_ close to convincing himself that someone was out there screwing with him, although he perfectly knew that was impossible and it was just his inability to deal with _all of this_ speaking.

He had a feeling; there was a reason he asked Misaki if he had anyone to call ‘enemy’ out there, but he wasn’t expecting it to turn out like this. It was simply a routine question.

Misaki shifted where he stood. At least he was as dumbfounded as him. Fushimi found a twisted relief in that.

“Wh-what... what the fuck?” Misaki snapped out of it first, craving answers, something, anything, his expression locked in bewilderment and disbelief.

Seriously, if this was all it took, he would have thrown the whole _witnesses’-identities-are-to-be-protected_ protocol out the window. How was he supposed to just assume for the umpteenth time that it ran in his blood to make things so complicated?

Without another second to waste, a sweep of his finger brought forth the pictures of the other two until they took up the whole of his screen.

“You know them?” he asked with visible urgency, turning his phone around quickly so the screen faced Misaki’s befuddled stare, who immediately leaned in to take a better look, his frown deepening.

“No.” Misaki looked up, meeting his eyes again. “Saruhiko... what’s going on? Why didn’t you show me who—”

Fushimi clicked his tongue sharply and mumbled through gritted teeth, looking away, “You weren’t supposed to see.”

“Hah? Why?!”

“You aren’t supposed to have any contact with the witnesses,” he murmured low, more to himself than to Misaki.

“The fuck?! That’s so stupid!”

Fushimi inwardly agreed to some extent. “Damnit.”

_I’m bitter too, believe me._

“W-wait... Saruhiko... then... does this mean...”

“I have to go back,” Fushimi cut him off, almost breathless, “then I’ll see what this means.”

“Isn’t it obvious!” Misaki snapped. “They... they set _us_ a trap! Fuck.” He looked away, his fists clenching. “I’m gonna kill them. I’m gonna find them, and I’m—”

“You won’t do anything, Misaki.” Fushimi clicked his tongue again, tucking his phone into his pants pocket.

“But there _has_ to be something I can do!” Misaki pushed, looking Fushimi in the eye.

“Like what? Give them a reason to put you to jail? Let them take her too?”

Misaki recoiled at that. “I mean... something legally, or some shit!” He paused, swallowing thickly and taking in a deep breath. “C’mon! I’m serious! What do you do when shit like this happens?”

Fushimi bit his lip for a moment.

“You can file a counterclaim.”

“Really?” Misaki lit up, a flicker of interest in his eyes. “What’s that for?”

“For the damage done to your image. Defamation, slander. You choose.”

“Those bastards.” Misaki growled low before his eyes were suddenly widening. “Wait... Weismann! He’s out of the country! He’s gotta know about this!”

Ah, yes, the Director had the habit of vanishing in the most unfortunate times.

The park was mostly funded by a private German party — that much he was aware of. Some part of it obviously belonged to the Ministry of Environment, and if the government didn’t want an issue with one of its parks to become public, or to stand in the middle of a grudge fight between conflictive gangs they had carelessly allowed to run loose, Fushimi doubted they wouldn’t cooperate.

Judging by its records though, Homra wasn’t that obscure; the gangs they meddled with ought to fit in their same category. If that was the case, Fushimi had the confidence that they wouldn’t need any useless backup.

Either way, Scepter 4 wasn’t going to stand on the sidelines and watch, of course. They weren’t allowed to; obstruction of justice was a serious thing.

“Not necessarily. Just anyone would do. Doesn’t have to be your boss,” Fushimi reassured, and paused for a moment. “Which gang was it?”

“Uh...” Misaki’s eyes drifted down, his face taking on a thoughtful look, which subsequently morphed into serious determination as he raised his gaze to meet Fushimi’s again. “I can ask Mikoto-san.”

“You sure he knows her?”

“He should! She came to the bar a few times and we kicked her out when we found out she was spying on him!”

“Huh...” Fushimi considered it; with the turn things seemed to be taking, he had a feeling Munakata would be highly interested in taking part of them, regardless of his own baggage of work. “It’s fine. I’ll have someone else take care of it.”

“Hah? Who?”

“It doesn’t matter,” Fushimi said dismissively, shoving the form of the Captain out of his mind.

“Okay...” Misaki murmured. An instant later he was frowning, his gaze glued to the floor. “Aaaah — fuck!”

In his exasperation, he raised one of his hands and chomped down on the tangerine in it, hard, like it was some piece of bread, not caring if he ended up chewing some of its skin as well. It was savage.

“Fuck _thish_ — ‘m _sho_ _mahd_ ,” he fumed, every attempt at forming a word wafting the citric scent through the air and into Fushimi’s nose.

They remained speechless for another long moment, Misaki working his teeth and Fushimi staring absently at him but not quite watching, his brain anticipating the tediousness at the sole thought of having to work with the new influx of information he’d gotten, if what Misaki had said turned out to be true.

Suddenly, Misaki turned to face him, his brow raised. His scrunched up face softened then, and he raised his other hand, nudging the second tangerine toward Fushimi.

“Sorry. Here.”

Fushimi reached out unconsciously. “What?”

“Breakfast.” He gave a light shrug and quickly turned around. His thoughts probably drove back to what they had just found out, because he kept mumbling out something incoherent and barely audible.

Fushimi stared down at the fruit in his hand. It looked a bit deformed after suffering Misaki’s grip, but, well, it was edible and his tongue found their taste tolerable.

_The peel though._

Somewhat grudgingly, he peeled off some of its skin, just enough to take out one section and welcome it into his mouth. Albeit too sweet for a morning snack, it made for a good natural mouthwash.

He really had to stop looking on the bright side of everything about this place. It was starting to look like he didn’t want to leave.

If that notion didn’t urge him to react, Lala did — who snapped him back to reality and reminded them of her presence outside by shifting her huge body, the wooden floor of the porch screeching under her weight.

Misaki turned toward the sound too, but Fushimi beat him to the entrance. A damp, chill draft immediately blew across his face as he pushed the door and stepped outside. He glanced around, smelling wet soil and spotting a few puddles between roots and rocks.

Lala was seated to his right, unfazed as ever, leaning against the railing at the corner of the porch with a bunch of apples pooled around her feet.

Fushimi didn’t know how to feel about the fact that she’d apparently gotten used to him.

A couple of seconds later, Misaki stepped out as well, standing by his side. “It stopped.” The rain, he meant, although Fushimi assumed he’d just spoken to fill the silence. They weren’t asleep when it stopped the night before.

Misaki scoped the porch for a moment, pausing when he spotted Lala behind Fushimi, and tilted his head a little over Fushimi’s shoulder, smiling. “Hey there.”

Fushimi turned his head to see Lala’s reaction, expecting her to wave at him, or something. She didn’t.

“By the way... Saruhiko.”

Somehow, Misaki’s voice reached him like an echo. He didn’t react right away; taking a moment to breathe, deep and slow, he found that he felt a little dazed. By everything. The few droplets hanging onto the railing riveted him, and he watched gravity pull them down, and down, one after another.

“What’s gonna happen now?” Misaki asked, and it was impossible to miss the cautious edge in his voice, however elsewhere Fushimi was.

He stilled for another brief moment, gathering some energy to turn and face him.

“I have to go,” was all he offered, ignoring the heavy sense of déjà vu triggered by those words.

Misaki opened his mouth, but no words made it out. He closed it, blinked a few times, and then, “Okay.”

Well, it was fine, right? It was only appropriate. This was no charitable visit.

Fushimi hadn’t moved yet, but the wood beneath their feet crackled, and before he could give it any pivotal significance, a brusque whack to his back robbed him of his air, knocking the breath out of his lungs in a gasp.

Thrown off guard, the motion buffeted him forward and his mind short-circuited for a second, but his body knew better and thought fast enough to brace a hand against Misaki’s sweatshirt on instinct, his fingers curling around the fabric over Misaki’s shoulder.

He was lucid enough to wish he didn’t have to, but it was that, or falling.

Not that it mattered, because _something_ kept _shoving_ him rather insistently.

“ _Oi_ ,” he hissed low, looking back to glower at the big animal behind him, who else — who had her brutish, huge body against his, unceremoniously and none-too-gently butting him out of her way to reach the couple of stairs at his feet.

“Woah, I’ve got yo—” he heard Misaki say, but there was only so much they could do against thick muscle and pounds of fat, and in the span of milliseconds Fushimi was overbalancing and banging his face into Misaki’s chest.

And then, he was falling.

(And _how_.)

‘Awkward’ was sure becoming a very familiar concept between them, even if they weren’t in a position they hadn’t been in before.

“Fuck.”

A low groan reverberated from beneath him, and when he raised his head, Misaki’s face was scrunching up in visible pain, body sandwiched between Fushimi and the wooden floor. His legs were slightly bent and spread apart, and Fushimi’s were nested between them.

The tangerines had shot out of their hands and bounced off the ground, but Fushimi couldn’t care less about them as he braced himself onto his elbows and then his free hands, propping himself up on his knees.

The movement beside him, though — it instantly caught his eye, and with almost resentful attention he watched Lala saunter her way down the stairs and into the woods in the most insouciant way, wiggling her backside, her big haunches shaking with each step she took like she didn’t care she’d just knocked two humans over like domino tiles. And what did she care. She was a bear, _goddammit_.

He clicked his tongue, snapping his attention back to his state. He wanted to stand, but felt his kneecaps give way; he leaned back and lowered himself, his backside meeting his heels. His glasses sat askew on his face, although they had miraculously managed to stay more or less in place, supported by one of his ears. Nudging them back into position, he took the chance to pat his nose, feeling for damage, finding none.

Misaki had it worse though; having fallen backwards on his butt and palms and cushioned Fushimi’s body in the same breath, he was unable to hide a wince as he propped himself up on one hand and rubbed the side of his hip with the other, squinting.

Hunching on himself, he rubbed the heels of his palms frantically, and only when he allowed his eyes to snap open completely, he stopped.

He looked up, except he wasn’t quite meeting Fushimi’s eyes. And how could he, if the fall had made a mess of his hair, his mussy bangs falling completely over his right eye.

(Misaki seriously needed a haircut.

Fushimi too needed to stop being so hypocritical and look himself in the mirror, but at least his hair obeyed him, sometimes.)

“U-um... you have... th-there’s...” Misaki let out in a stuttered breath, voice hoarse and shaky, like it hurt to speak. “There’s something in your... i-is that a—”

Fushimi eyed him carefully, puzzled; Misaki’s lips were twitching, one of his eyebrows raising, the other coming down. His look was awfully raw, exasperated, like he wasn’t sure he wanted to know whatever he was about to ask, but couldn’t tear his gaze away from something scandalous.

He still wasn’t looking Fushimi in the eye.

“Is that a _knife_?” he breathed out in disbelieving awe.

Following Misaki’s gaze, Fushimi craned his neck down enough to see the protruding tip of one of his weapons poking through his shirt at his stomach level. It didn’t stick out enough to pierce through the fabric, but it was there.

Slowly, he patted over his shirt, tucking it back into place.

Misaki hissed in a quick breath. “F-fuck, that’s...”

Fushimi looked up, barely in time to catch Misaki swallowing hard, stare still transfixed on his stomach. A much redder flush spread across his tanned cheeks and his mouth curled at the corners as he bit down on lower lip.

Whatever that look meant, Misaki couldn’t hide it. He was an open nerve, and _everything_ about that was just fascinating.

It shouldn’t have made Fushimi’s heart lurch in his ribcage. No one and nothing about no one should have been able to make him so _nervous_. That couldn’t be good — it was _bad_ , and yet he suddenly craved more of that attention.

He felt agitated and his palms were practically roasting. His nose felt hot, but he could still breathe. His chest thumped, but he would swallow and it would go down the right pipe. He knew _bad_ , and this wasn’t it. It was just _there_ , and someone just happened to own the things he found appealing by chance.

He couldn’t even blame his anxiety on Misaki’s scalding half-gaze piercing its way into his eyes, because Misaki just wasn’t. Even. Looking. At him.

_Half-gaze_ , because that stupid and tousled stray copper hair was still hovering over Misaki’s right eye, sticking to his eyelashes, bouncing to the rhythm of his blinking. It made Fushimi want to scold him, for looking so clumsy and ridiculously comfortable with it in front of him.

It was so annoying.

His eyes unfocused the more he stared at it. He felt himself frowning, almost wanting to reach out and fix it himself.

Albeit wild and full of split ends, Misaki’s hair really was soft.

He wasn’t sure what happened then, but when the haze behind his eyes lifted and he focused, really _focused_ , Misaki’s hair was tucked back into place and his own fingers were hovering above Misaki’s head. And Misaki’s hair was smoothed back into place. And Misaki’s lips fell open, and his wide eyes locked on the fingers poised above his hair.

Fushimi’s fingers. Misaki’s head. And then those eyes locked on him.

The tips of his fingers tickled where they touched Misaki’s hair.

His fingers. Misaki’s hair.

His throat closed up.

He didn’t pull back, his hand — burning like the pores of his face, like he’d touched fire — suspended mid-air as if held by invisible threads. Maybe if he didn’t move it too much Misaki would forget it was even there.

He tried to stand once more, but his thighs were trembling, unable to hold his weight.

It felt like he was deliberately being kept in place.

The will to fight back and force his muscles to work slipped from his reach as their closeness began to feel less unsettling and more inviting. And he didn’t know exactly how, but they _were_ closer now.

He tried not to think too much about the fact that it didn’t look like Misaki had actually moved at all.

He couldn’t pinpoint what about Misaki’s poise — curious, raw, _tender_ — made him do it, but one moment, his arm gave in, the heel of his hand pressing gently onto Misaki’s shoulder. Whether it was to keep him grounded or pull him in, he couldn’t tell.

The next, Misaki was tipping his head and meeting him halfway, their lips melding together softly.

Misaki’s lips were _damp_ , Fushimi noticed, and the last rational thought to dash through his mind before all common and practical sense escaped him was _he must have bit them, just now_. Then again, kissing was everything but practical or reasonable. It was just happening, and it was paralyzing.

And it took so little to throw him off focus; it was almost pathetic, really.

For a moment, Misaki looked like he knew how to do it; it was hard to tell if his pulse was thrumming as fast as Fushimi’s, but he had his eyes closed while Fushimi’s flicked up and down his face, taking in what little he could from such an up-close angle.

But then he realized Misaki actually didn’t seem to know any better; he was just there, as motionless as him, accepting the sudden touch of their lips but not really... well, _kissing_.

Despite it, Fushimi tentatively lowered his eyelids, although it was more of a frown taking over before he was able to loosen up the muscles of his face and close his eyes.

It was a bit alarming, how he couldn’t just spare the effort and summon the will to pull away. He couldn’t even complain of anything being messy because there was no friction at all, yet the way their mouths were simply slotted together was anything but discouraging. Misaki really was soft, and incredibly fleshy, and Fushimi found he really liked that.

But he also grasped just _enough_ of the concept to know that kissing wasn’t supposed to be so _static_ , like a moment caught by a camera shutter and perpetually frozen in time.

Well. _Ha_. Now what?

He tried to do more — keyword _tried_ — but all the alarms in his head went off when he couldn’t even manage to pull his lips apart with how parched he felt them, in spite of the wetness of Misaki’s mouth.

And he felt so disadvantaged already.

He could almost imagine the outcome — Misaki pulling back with a grimace, his face scrunched up in disappointment, and a judging gaze pulverizing his swaying confidence and replacing it with inhibition, self-doubt and insecurity.

The thought was mortifying in itself. His thighs trembled in response, as if silently screaming at him to count on them to _go_ , that this had been such a childish decision, that it wasn’t as much a decision as it was an impulse. He was swept away in the moment, and for him that might as well be a beginner’s mistake.

Sure, Misaki crossed most of the items off his list of standards, but that was completely off the point.

His eyes were still closed as the hand braced on Misaki’s shoulder squeezed down firmer. His fingers twitched at the feeling of hard muscle and flesh, but remained resolute, ready to hold Misaki’s body in place as he drew back.

Their lips stuck together for a fleeting moment as he cleared a gap between them, but before he could muster up the strength to rise to his feet, Misaki was resisting the grip of his hand and pushing forward _roughly_ , finesse be damned as he leaned into Fushimi’s personal space and puckered up to catch his mouth once more. A mutual groan rattled within their throats, overloading Fushimi with want as he let Misaki grind their lips together harder.

His neck pulsated to the pump of his heart, and the prospect of being chased after sent a rather pleasant shiver through him. His other hand joined the other and blindly found Misaki’s other shoulder, digging his nails into the fabric and rousing a little moan from Misaki’s throat. Respite reached his abdomen when he breathed in deeply, and hot, damp air rushed through his nose, flooding his lungs and the pit of his belly with a blend of citric and the unique scent of Misaki’s skin. He felt Misaki inhale and exhale against his skin as well, quick and short, his warm respiration tickling below his cheek and the corner of his mouth.

The wet muscle that shyly prodded against Fushimi’s lower lip, once, twice, retracted every time it bumped against him, but Fushimi felt himself shudder all the same. When it finally stalled long enough to lick along the seam of his mouth, like it _knew_ how to help, he found it relatively easier to part his lips and slacken his jaw, and let Misaki pry him open.

Misaki responded with an eager hum as the soft edges of their tongues grazed alongside each other slowly, tasting the zest of citrus in the other. Soon, he became more daring, lapping the underside of Fushimi’s tongue and his teeth, and Fushimi swooned under the attention, reciprocating with intent as they kissed deeper until their lips were opening and closing over each other languidly, breaking away briefly and coming back, their necks moving back and forth in snaky motions.

It was _good_ , and with that notion came the realization — the moan Fushimi sighed into Misaki’s mouth was shaky and loud, and beyond his control. He couldn’t recognize his voice, and it took a great deal of courage to acknowledge that the soft, smacking sounds bouncing from their lips when the slightest breath of air rushed in between them were their own. It was equal parts embarrassing and thrilling.

Despite his haze, he felt Misaki inch closer, and Fushimi clamped onto his shoulders harder, feeling his movements. One of Misaki’s arms remained tensed and still, his palm still flat on the ground. But his other shoulder shifted beneath Fushimi’s fingers, raising, and before Fushimi could wonder why, there was a light tap on the center of his chest, a short bump of fingertips, Misaki’s, against his shirt.

Those fingers dragged lower, and the loose harness against his stomach clattered under Misaki’s contact. Misaki’s hand shook in response; the jerky touch caused Fushimi to start as well. The chain of reactions rebounded back again on Misaki, who couldn’t help a gasp as his body jerked back, making their lips break away with a pop.

Fushimi shuddered a little at the cold air hitting his face.

Their eyes fluttered open almost simultaneously.

For a moment, they faced each other in silence — Misaki bracing his hands flat back on the floor behind him to support his weight, and not quite making up his mind on whether to set his eyes on Fushimi’s or everywhere but him; and Fushimi quickly reaching up to his ear to keep his glasses in place.

Both of their faces were slightly flushed, their breath coming in quick, silent pants. Fushimi didn’t miss the bob of Misaki’s throat as he swallowed thickly before resuming his breathing and catching short puffs of air through his mouth.

His gaze dragged higher then, to the shimmer in Misaki’s mouth, surprisingly far from being disgusted by it. The notion that his own lips were probably looking the same made his face heat up terribly though, and he slowly lowered his hand to wipe the lingering damp sensation off his mouth with the end of his sleeve.

Misaki didn’t seem bothered by it. Even under the roof of the porch, his big eyes were oddly glazed, his pupils eclipsing the amber beneath them as he blinked the haze from his sight. He still had that half-baffled, half-affected look down pat, and he still managed to look terribly attractive.

After a brief moment, he leaned his weight on one of his hands to bring the other to his nape, possibly to ease the strain on his neck. Fair enough, since Fushimi was slowly becoming aware of the strain in his knees as well.

Yeah, they hadn’t been in the best position to do... _that_.

It was simply impulsive. Fushimi thought he knew when to guard his impulses, because moments like these usually made it hard to think of how to act or come up with something to say. It was better when they were kissing.

But then he stopped thinking and focused on Misaki, who was, _oh_ , smiling.

And, _oh_ , if that didn’t make Fushimi really fight the urge to lean forward again and wipe that simper off his face.

He found it hard to resist returning that look, though.

With some effort, he found himself able to rise on wobbly feet, wincing slightly when the tendons in his knees stretched out. He immediately looked away, lest Misaki see him biting back a smile — a rather hypocritical reaction, now that there was nothing to hide, but this was all so new.

“What?” he mustered enough nerve to ask as he dusted the dirt off his backside, his tone low and a bit breathy, just a bit demanding but lacking any real bite.

“Um... w-well...” Despite the waver in Misaki’s voice, the hint of a breathless laugh beneath it was way more palpable.

A long moment of silence hung between them. It should’ve been uncomfortable, but it was rather invigorating, like they were both trying to get their head around everything and putting their thoughts in order.

The muffled buzzing against Fushimi’s thigh pulled him out of his reflection. Surprisingly, the first thought to come to his mind was to hope Kamo had been _discreet_ about his little escapade; he would hate to have _everyone_ dogging his footsteps or worrying for him for nothing.

The sound didn’t go unnoticed to Misaki’s ears, and he spoke up before Fushimi could dig his phone out.

“A-ah, shit.” Fushimi looked up at him, catching the blush below his eyes, cheekbones high with his smile as he pushed himself to his feet. “You work today?” His eyebrows came down in an emphatic, woeful look. “They’re probably worried about you too, huh?”

That sated look wasn’t leaving Misaki’s face and Fushimi was having a hard time trying to pretend he was a cool, poised human being. He still managed to respond, concisely, “It’s fine.”

Misaki’s shoulders deflated a little, as if relieved.

Then, he stiffened, his brow furrowing. “The counterattack!”

“What?”

“The counterthing!”

“The... counterclaim.”

“Yeah, that!” Misaki lit up again, punching his fist into his palm. “When do we start?”

Fushimi sighed. Seeing Misaki like that though... it was hard not to feel relieved.

“Give me some time,” he decided. Scepter 4 was on their own, after all.

That alone seemed to appease Misaki’s spirits. “Okay.” He nodded. “Just... just let me know, yeah?”

Fushimi swallowed, a bit lost for words as Misaki eyed him attentively. “What about you?” he murmured.

“Huh?”

“Do you need help? With...” He shook his head lightly, as if to allow Misaki to fill in the rest. “Something?”

Those curious eyes lingered on him for a moment before they softened, but Misaki’s voice didn’t come out any less enthusiastic. “Oh, this? Nah! I’m gonna clean up and call it a day.” He briefly pointed behind him with his thumb. “I need to check in on Totsuka-san and the others.... i-it was pretty late when it stopped raining. I don’t think they took the bus.”

Fushimi nodded. _Good_ , he thought, because the offer to give Misaki a ride hung on the tip of his tongue, but he didn’t want to give him a ride. Rather, he wouldn’t have _disliked_ the idea, but he didn’t want to _ask_ , listen to his voice forming the words. Things really would be so much simpler if they didn’t have to be said all the time. Impulses were risky, but so easy to give in to.

Misaki shifted where he stood. “So... I’ll see you later,” he resolved.

Fushimi couldn’t offer more than a hushed _‘Yeah’_ , but he liked the sound of that.

_‘I’ll see you later.’_

What did Misaki look like, _later_ , this time? What was he like when he wasn’t feeding a bear or chasing rabbits? Where did he actually sleep?

His knees buckled slightly under his weight, but he managed to keep his posture straight and march off toward the path leading to the entrance. His steps were deliberate but firm as he picked his way through the mud, leaving Misaki behind to watch his back.

There was something different in him as he left — a twinge of satisfaction he hadn’t felt the other times.

_Oh, well._

Lala met him a couple of steps into his retreat. A low roar reverberated from her chest as she stopped by his side, facing him.

“What?”

_Got a problem, now?_

Her eyes were a deep brown, a dam of snakewood against the erratic flow of the river in his own. For the second time since he’d come here, he thought he might get lost in them again if he stared too much.

He wasn’t Misaki, hadn’t learned to tell one nose-twitch from the other, didn’t have the slightest idea what her spontaneous head-tilts meant. Was she the jealous type, now? He wondered if he’d given her a solid reason to question his intentions. He’d practically made out with her dad.

But she only stared.

_Maybe..._

Fushimi reached out slowly until his hand found her snout. The heel of his palm rested gently between her eyes, just where her sandy-colored muzzle began, and his fingers pressed into the center of her head, running back and forth.

There was a snort mixed with a laugh behind him, and suddenly, the will to fight the smile that that little sound had drawn out of him escaped him.

His lips stretched wide across his face as he glanced over his shoulder, scolding Misaki with a knowing, half-lidded look.

 

 

୧ʕ ✧ᴥ✧ ʔ

 

 

The metaphoric walk of shame to the car was really something.

People kissed in nightclubs, ice-cream dates, movie theaters, empty school hallways — but he always had it in him to be a special snowflake, so he couldn’t think of a more fitting place for him than somewhere wet, muddy, brimming with species he didn’t care to socialize with, if they could even be socialized with. It was like the universe had been piling up all the things he wasn’t comfortable with and thrust it into his face.

Quite literally.

Except for one thing. _Person_.

Fushimi slumped down in the driver’s seat like a sack of lead. The confined interior of the car was urban, artificial and city-like, why not, and he stalled for a moment to revel in the sense of belonging it provided him.

His palms felt hot where they had squeezed the firm curves of Misaki’s shoulders. His lips tingled where Misaki’s had touched them, fit so well against them even if they were barely moving at first.

He unthinkingly brought his fingers to them, picking up the scent of citric peel on his nails. The reminiscence of Misaki’s taste inevitably crossed his mind as well, and he gripped the steering wheel instead, needing something to hold onto and getting ready to turn on the ignition and rev up.

He couldn’t shake the way it’d felt, but it wasn’t like he really bothered to.

He _wanted_ to try it. The way it had started, it shouldn’t have made him feel anything, because it was clumsy and rigid. But things didn’t always turn out the way he expected them to, and the slightest graze of Misaki’s lips against his incited a handful of nerves he didn’t know he’d ever need.

He couldn’t ignore it, he still felt it, in the unmistakable swirling heat in his belly, or in the way it made the fine hairs on his arms prickle back then, and even now. He had to fight the urge to shake his head to the next planet.

He bit his lip instead, and it was an idiotic thing to think of but he couldn’t help becoming self-aware of his tongue and the wonders that two of them, warm and smooth alongside each other, could do together.

Then again, even if Misaki was eager he’d still proved to be the opposite of a _brute_. He’d been as determined as cautious, and it was fine; Fushimi decided that was rather cute of him.

It had been a wise decision to ignore the e-mail he’d gotten back then, which turned out to be spam; he wasn’t sure if he could pull off a poker face and pretend it was work-related when Misaki was all shy smiles and expectant eyes. It just felt wrong.

Releasing a deep sigh, he quickly searched his own reflection in the rear view mirror, and had to do a double take to acknowledge the look rebounding back to him — cheeks slightly flushed, hair a bit tousled, lips pink. Overall, though, he looked decent.

It was weird, but as his hand found the gearshift, he realized his knees didn’t feel weak anymore. He felt lighter, like a big weight had been lifted off him, like something that had been clenching in his chest all week had loosened.

He’d picked up on the quirky reactions, the lingering glances, their clothes brushing, their skin touching; and if he wasn’t completely sure about Misaki’s _opinions_ , today had been the proof. Theirs thoughts were compatible.

The morning rolled by in peace.

 

 

ʕ  ˘ᴥ˘  ʔ

 

 

Clean. Clean. Clean.

Would a bunch of gangsters send their own dates and not some scapegoat to show their faces and do the dirty work, all for a petty revenge? Well, yeah, it made sense, but it also sounded really lame. He’d even been told they had walked into the police station with runny noses.

Then again, anyone could fool an obsolete lie detector, human or machine; Fushimi came in second place only to Benzai — who held the record between all the members of the squad —  and third to Munakata himself. Even Hidaka stood a chance.

It smelled like something poorly planned. He felt he was going to _die_ if it turned out a handful of losers had pulled their leg. They should have just put Misaki, Lala and everyone else in the same room, if only they were allowed to disclose the witnesses’ identities. _Protocol and etiquette_ , all right. As if Fushimi or Munakata himself hadn’t broken a few rules in the past.

Well, whatever. That was when Munakata’s non-conventional ways came in handy.

Fushimi reached headquarters and subsequently home in a blink.

He didn’t keep anything to himself, and reported what little he could gather to the Captain. Omitting the existence of any other secondary _events_ that were completely unimportant to the case — obviously — he briefly mentioned how he’d gotten those new juicy snippets of information at the expense of a fleeting moment of negligence that allowed Misaki to sneak up on him.

Munakata simply deemed everything very interesting.

And as if that was all he needed to hear, all the energy to keep going left him then; it wasn’t like he would be scolded for not taking work home, and upon ending the call, he flopped onto his bed, computer on his lap.

He was about halfway through an evening snack when Misaki texted him. It caught him off guard, but he didn’t hesitate as much as he expected himself to and opened his message with the intention of replying to whatever it said.

 

**[17:15] Yata:  
** hey saruhiko?

**[17:15] Yata:  
** u there?

**[17:15] You:  
** Yeah

 

So far, Misaki sounded normal — as normal as four words could express.

Fushimi grimaced a little at his lame response. He didn’t intend it to come out so awkward, but all the words in his vocabulary were suddenly pushing past him like roadrunners, slipping away from his reach. With some luck, Misaki wouldn’t find their interaction uncomfortable already, because, deep down, Fushimi wasn’t.

But a couple of seconds later, Misaki replied, and that was when Fushimi knew he had nothing to worry about.

 

**[17:16] Yata:  
** aah :)

**[17:16] Yata:  
** so

**[17:16] Yata:  
** ok i just

**[17:16] Yata:  
** uuhhh

**[17:17] Yata:  
** we good right?

If the way they parted ways had been capriciously reassuring, this was more solid.

Fushimi felt a smirk forming, and as he typed his response, a breath of relief filled his lungs.

 

**[17:17] You:  
** Can’t you tell?

**[17:17] Yata:  
** umm

**[17:17] Yata:  
** that a yes or

**[17:17] You:  
** I wouldn’t be talking to you if we weren’t

**[17:17] Yata:  
** hehh

**[17:18] Yata:  
** yeah I guess

**[17:18] Yata:  
** i’m glad hah

**[17:18] Yata:  
** :)

**[17:18] Yata:  
** ok we good

**[17:19] You:  
** It was good

**[17:19] You:  
** For a beginner

**[17:19] Yata:  
**???

 

He didn’t know what came over him, but he couldn’t keep it in; if Hirasaka was in the room on the other side of his wall, he was sure she would have started at the laugh that burst through the silence of his apartment, breathless, loud and unexpected.

 

**[17:19] Yata:  
** what??

**[17:19] You:  
** Never mind

**[17:19] Yata:  
** oook >_>

**[17:20] Yata:  
** are u busy with work?

**[17:20] You:  
** Something like that

**[17:20] Yata:  
** oh.. is it about this?

**[17:20] Yata:  
** i mean about lala and all of this

**[17:20] Yata:  
** u know what i mean

**[17:20] You:  
** Yeah. No big news

**[17:20] You:  
** I told my boss though.

**[17:20] Yata:  
** uh that munakata guy?? whatd he say?

**[17:20] You:  
** That it was interesting

**[17:20] Yata:  
** :O whats that mean??

**[17:20] You:  
** Beats me. But it’s in his hands now I guess

**[17:20] Yata:  
** pff wtf!!

**[17:21] Yata:  
** agh i have to go.. it’s anna’s birthday

**[17:21] Yata:  
** actually it’s tomorrow but she has school so we’re gonna do smth quick at the bar!

**[17:21] You:  
** Sounds good

**[17:21] Yata:  
** yeah! ok i'll leave u to ur work now

**[17:21] Yata:  
** lemme know if u need smth!!

**[17:21] Yata:  
** anything ok

**[17:21] You:  
** I’ll keep that in mind

**[17:22] Yata:  
** great

**[17:22] Yata:  
** talk to u later saruhiko! :)

**[17:22] You:  
** Yeah

**[17:22] You:  
** Talk to you later

 

_Misaki._

Yeah, he was looking forward to that.

The rest of the evening went on.

As usual.

He’d forgotten how _usual_ his weekend was supposed to be, that the world just didn’t bend to his experiences.

He’d forgotten Awashima was over at Hirasaka’s.

So, when the bell rang and he opened the door to find his superior and his neighbor in spandex, duffel bags firmly tucked beneath their arms — flowered and cat patterned, respectively — and making little to no effort to hide the smugness in their faces, Fushimi knew they knew. He didn’t know exactly _what_ they knew, but they did. The walls were really thin, and Fushimi just didn’t laugh; he fleered. And he definitely didn’t laugh like _that_.

Not bothering to shut the door in their faces, he spun around, clicked his tongue and told them to wait.

He briefly wondered what his life would be like if having those two dragging him to the local gym every first Sunday of the month wasn’t a thing. But like every other first Sunday of the month, he complained, he complied, and got dragged along in the name of releasing tension and building up stamina, or something.

He refused to follow the girls to the lat machines or anywhere else that required more effort than what he was willing to sacrifice. Instead, he grabbed himself the same old isolated exercise bike with a console board that was big enough to support his phone and allow him to make progress on some client’s website while he pretended to set himself the goal of matching Misaki’s muscular tissue.

The smile that slowly swelled his cheeks prompted a tickle on his nose.

_Misaki._

Willing himself to focus on one of his looming deadlines, he shook his head and slid his headphones on, Yahoo!-ed a video game, found the whole soundtrack online, put it on shuffle, and pedaled.

“Ask him what kind of music he likes,” said Awashima before they parted ways, leaving behind a very amused Hirasaka and a very perplexed Fushimi, who really didn’t want to contemplate _the_ possibility, but the more he thought of Misaki’s friend having mentioned to Totsuka and Suoh about their little _adversity_ from last night, and Suoh having mentioned it to Munakata, who subsequently could have mentioned something to Awashima, who had the proudest little smile on her face — the more screwed he felt.

He didn’t bother with a response, regarded her complacent expression with a flat look, a mix of _‘What’_ and _‘Why’_ and _‘I did not pedal seventy rotations per minute for this’_ , and headed back to his apartment, with Hirasaka following after him closely.

Everything else after that was kind of a blur.

Dinner and showering were taken care of in the blink of an eye.

After cleaning up and staggering to his bed, he’d managed to close his eyes without his fingers itching to open the browser on his phone, and actually felt like he could doze off like that.

It was midnight when the buzz under his pillow made him stir. He’d barely felt it; with some effort, he reached for his glasses from the nightstand and raised a hand to his forehead to shield his eyes and fight the brightness of the screen.

 

**[00:23] Yata:  
** see u tomorrow! :D

 

That... that was incredibly nice. Misaki sounded hopeful.

Fushimi didn’t reply, mostly because he wasn’t sure when he could see him again, or when he was to return to the park. On an official mission, that is.

He left it at that.

Sleep came back to him easily afterwards, and as the images of the last two days faded along with his consciousness, he resolved he didn’t really know Misaki. Misaki didn’t know him. It had been all too short and quick.

He wanted more.

 

 

¯\ʕ ˘ᴥ˘ ʔ/¯

 

 

“Good job, Fushimi-san!”

A pat on the shoulder.

“As expected of you!”

A pat on the back.

Hidaka was first, then Domyoji, before they retreated to the copy room.

Right, _that_ kind of additional attention wasn’t that uncommon now. They had crossed that line sometime after a really intricate mission that had actually kept everyone on edge like never before.

They had become more handsy, then. At least those two.

But Fushimi usually knew what prompted such displays of flattery.

He stood in the middle of the hallway. His feet were practically glued to the spot as the rest of the squad kept coming to him, stopping momentarily to greet him. They hadn’t dared to mimic those two though, refrained from getting too physical and settled for giving a nod and expressing their felicitations verbally instead, although not less heartily.

“Congratulations, Fushimi-san.”

“I’m glad it’s all cleared up now.”

“Yeah, good job.”

“So much for the evil onikuma theory...”

Kamo, Enomoto, Fuse, Goto. They all then made their way to their destinations.

Akiyama and Benzai were the last ones, hands full with stacks of what looked to be folder after folder of reports.

Fushimi strode up to them, meeting them halfway. “What’s all this about?” he asked before they could utter a word.

They seemed taken aback. There was a moment’s pause before Benzai, who had managed to hide his surprise a bit better than his partner, replied calmly, “Your case, of course.”

Fushimi frowned. In other words, something was up. As if he hadn’t had his fair share of surprises up to now.

They offered him a friendly look. “Congratulations, Fushimi-san,” Akiyama quickly added.

“What about it?”

Akiyama’s eyebrows shot up slightly, both his and Benzai’s smiles winding down. “What do you mean?”

“What about the case?”

“You don’t know?”

Did he... look like he knew? Because he would — if everyone would take a minute to wonder why their regard was being obviously unrequited.

He... _enjoyed_ being in this squad, but right now he seriously needed answers.

“Is there something I should know about?”

The pair looked at each other for a moment, sharing a puzzled look before Akiyama shuffled through the stack of reports he’d been carrying. When he seemed to find the one folder he was looking for, he flipped it open, read over the title, and snapped it shut before handing it over to him.

Fushimi tucked it onto his forearm and spread it open, immediately going over the first zillion paragraphs, flipping page after page of protocolary introductions.

“Someone filed a counterclaim last night,” Akiyama said, picking Fushimi’s interest.

“Who issued it—” he asked almost absent-mindedly, immediately trailing off; his eyes went wide before he could force the question out at the same time a significant name stood out among the waterfall of text, and Akiyama’s voice bore him out.

“Hm, a man named... Kusanagi Izumo? A civilian.”

_‘Kusanagi Izumo, henceforth the counterclaimant...’_ , it read.

Fushimi didn’t know exactly what kind of relationship the park’s owner and Misaki’s friend had, but somehow the latter had been given the power to act on behalf of its eccentric German director and managed to get himself involved, coincidentally following Fushimi’s advice to issue a counterclaim.

Misaki must’ve told him something. And they sure didn’t waste any time.

“He brought a witness as well,” Akiyama cut through his reading. “They’re interrogating him at the moment.”

And that baited his instant attention.

Fushimi peeked up over his glasses. “What?”

It didn’t come out as loud as he would’ve liked to; Akiyama had turned to face his partner by then, who was facing him back with a pensive frown.

“I guess it’s only fair. It was their word against them... and in the end...”

Akiyama sighed, his shoulders slumping as he supplied with a pained look, “To think it was all a set-up.”

“That’s where things seem to be heading to...”

Fushimi raised his head completely, processing the familiarity of those words. This was all speculation, right? But it hit so close — just as a ping crinkled in his mind, the spontaneous buzz of his phone in his pants pocket cut through the moment, starting him.

His brow twitched, finding the interruption highly inconvenient, but trifling, easy to ignore in light of the recent disclosure before his eyes.

But the first vibration was followed by another, and their insistence and bad timing sparked a stronger flash of annoyance within him.

_Tch, I get it, already._

Hoping to quell the disturbance, he rashly snapped the folder shut and yanked his phone out of his pocket. Despite himself, all it took was a quick glimpse at the letters that shaped the sender’s name to suppress the growing irritation within him almost instantly.

The bright, white letters forming the word ‘Yata’ were beckoning him to fix his undivided attention on them, and there was something strange about it.

He momentarily thought it might have been the fact that they had only texted each other during the evenings so far, but it was actually the actual texts that threw him off even further.

 

**[08:09] Yata:  
** ok im almost done! :D

**[08:09] Yata:  
** ur still here?

 

_Why?_

His colleagues didn’t seem to pay any mind to him; as he squinted at the screen, unsure of how to respond, Fushimi was able to catch Benzai’s words as he kept speaking — something about one of the trio of witnesses having had a breakdown and busting out in tears under the constant pressure of Munakata’s presence.

He looked up at that. “Akiyama-sa—”

“AKIYAMA-SAN!”

The curt shrill of Domyoji’s voice sliced through the serene mood violently; all three of them jolted before their heads swiveled toward the copy room a couple of meters from where they stood, finding their troublesome comrade peeking through the door.

As if the natural emptiness of the corridors couldn’t provide enough silence, Domyoji cupped his hand to his mouth, his voice intensifying. “I need a copy of the factory case!”

Behind Fushimi, Akiyama answered, ever so poised and patient as always, “I’ll be there in a second.”

Not long after, Hidaka joined in as well, standing next to Domyoji. “Ah, I need the one with the Shitamachi house!”

Domyoji’s eyes widened. “Oh, right! The kitties’ case!”

The ‘kitties’ case’, as Domyoji so eloquently described it, was also known among the squad as the ‘cat house case’, which addressed the public appropriation of an old building currently being inhabited by a horde of stray cats after its owners passed away. It had become some sort of shelter that needed to be dealt with.

It was impossible to ignore the sudden image of Misaki that his brain had summoned almost instantly — of Misaki gaping at them, eyes big and bright, not even knowing which one to start to pet, assuming he liked cats.

“Ah, Benzai has that one,” Akiyama’s voice gently broke through that thought. When Fushimi’s attention snapped back to Hidaka, it was just in time to see his smile drop.

“Uh... n-never mind... I can wait!” Despite the elation in his voice, there was a pained expression on the brunet’s face as he retreated back to the office. “I-I’m getting something from the cafeteria...”

“Oh!” Domyoji quickly followed after him. “I want apple juice!”

Weird.

When Fushimi turned back to his other two colleagues, he was just a bit fazed to find that it didn’t look like Benzai’s posture could be perfected any further, yet he somehow managed to straighten up even more, making him look oddly taller.

He could almost swear he saw him clutch the reports against his chest tighter.

Well, it was none of his business.

“You better go. I’ll keep this,” he said suddenly, pocketing his phone and raising the reports in his grasp to make a point. “Everything’s here, right?”

“Oh.” Akiyama’s eyes widened for a bit, then softened as he directed his gaze back to him. “Yes. Congratulations again, Fushimi-san.”

Fushimi nodded. Before he could leave the pair behind, however, Akiyama chimed in a last time, cautiously.

“Ah, Fushimi-san? Since you just found out... we’re being discreet about it.”

 

 

ʕ♡˙ᴥ˙♡ʔ

 

 

_‘See? There’s nothing... no bad bears.’_

In the end, it was no such thing as a ‘bad bear’.

It wasn’t even a bear.

The cause of the claim was very conveniently retitled; from a worrisome ‘bear’ on a rampage, it now addressed a more typical case of an ‘aggressive stray domestic animal’ involved in a couple of instances of non-fatal harm against passersby, lifting all previous suspicions and charges against the reserve and its whole team, employers and employees.

‘Being discreet’, as Akiyama put it, meant only the few closest to the Captain knew the actual facts; that Homra — that crew Misaki’s friends belonged to and which he’d gotten a bit passionate over under the speculation that someone might have been behind the pseudo-attacks to get to them — had cut ties with a gang that the now-turned-defendant worked for, which apparently hadn’t taken the breakup very... civilly.

It was all very petty. But what was new?

_Gangsters._

Fushimi didn’t even bother to keep the amused smirk off his face as he flipped to the next page.

Then entered a certain ranger, a bear, and the perfect chance to ruin Misaki’s friends’ retiree lives by accusing them all of housing a ‘danger’ to the public safety.

The rest was history, except for what he didn’t know yet.

Benzai’s words resonated strongly in his head. Surely the Captain had to have done something to get them to speak — rather, have them _breaking down and busting out in tears_ —, or nothing at all. That man had that effect on people, and it earned him a confession. It wasn’t fully culminating without a trial, but it was something.

Fushimi mentally shook his head. Gangsters — they had crossed quite a handful of lines, and everything within the limits of a property that was to be partly preserved by the state, to cap it all. It started when they paid the rangers their first visit with not so friendly intentions — a typical exhibition of harassment, provocation and intimidation, if they felt like it. It went on, considering the most recent events, from issuing false claims and forging evidence, to obstructing justice and wasting a governmental entity’s time and resources.

(Fushimi had to pause at that — it wasn’t _all_ a waste of his time, though.)

Well, at least Misaki would be glad to have an official confirmation.

He couldn’t quell the warming relief that seeped through him.

Misaki was innocent all along.

Of course he was.

After such a heavy confession, his and his friends’ innocence was almost guaranteed, but they apparently still had someone to testify and back them up.

Fushimi kept flipping through the pages, hoping to dig up something about this so-called new witness Akiyama had told him Kusanagi brought with him, finding nothing.

_Not again._

Fushimi allowed a grimace to twist his face. No way was he going to act on his own before he got an official order from above, for all he knew the Captain might have most of it under control, but now that Munakata himself had evidently taken the reins of the rest of the case, Fushimi couldn’t help but feel a bit curious.

He only flicked his eyes up once just in time to spot the corner preceding their main office, speeding up as he turned back to the reports, idly skimming through the rival gang’s background.

Keeping his head down and still being fully aware of his surroundings had never been that difficult of an issue for him, but the hard _mass_ he crashed into as he rounded the corridor took him by surprise and knocked all the air out of his chest.

There was a mutual muffled _‘hmf’_ between him and the other man whose body he’d collided with. Fushimi almost clicked his tongue, thoroughly irritated and ready to manifest it, but the moment he recovered his breath, all the hostile thoughts reeling in his head suddenly screeched to a halt.

He smelled the cologne before he heard the voice.

“I’m sorry! Ugh...” it said, in a rather self-incriminating tone. When Fushimi whipped his head to it, he was met with the sight of the familiar features of a face he still managed to recognize despite the tan, short fingers covering most of it, probably to soothe the magnitude of the impact. “I wasn’t looking—”

Misaki’s eyes were scrunched shut, but they opened to reveal two thick rings of amber. As their gazes met, the initial apologetic look on them turned into temporary puzzlement, then into something like contentment.

“Saruhiko!”

The air in the corridors was crisp, soundless and almost lulling, but seeing Misaki surged a rush of warmth and lucidity throughout him and reawakened his attention. He felt oddly pleased.

Far from the more organic daylight he’d gotten used to the last two weeks, the chandeliers hanging from the ceiling bathed everything in white wherever they nested their artificial light. It was practically everywhere, and left no corner unseen. It illuminated them from all sides, and as Misaki sought his face, Fushimi noticed he could see the clean intensity of his eyes like this; they were dense, or rather, _full_ , thick like syrup but lighter all the same, with thin, golden specks that resembled sunrays.

“Misaki,” he eventually replied back, his tone somewhere between disbelieving and inquiring. Despite the confusion that unfolded on his face, the grin he got in return was dazzling, completely unperturbed.

“I was just about to text you,” Misaki said, his statement just as confusing as his presence.

Fushimi could never have imagined he’d be meeting him here, of all places, at least not this soon. What threw him off even more was that despite the ounce of obvious surprise on Misaki’s face, he didn’t look all that fazed by their chance encounter.

Furthermore, something about him and his bearing was different, and as Fushimi broke eye contact to see Misaki tucking his phone in his back pocket, and took a full look at him, he instantly knew why.

It was as if he’d dressed up for some occasion, and in the middle of porcelain tile floors and old-style entablature, pillars and cornices, he really stood out, more so than usual.

Blue suited him, and so did the open navy blue blazer that reached his hips. The sleeves were rolled up to his elbows, revealing his forearms — a sight which Fushimi was just discovering he had an irrevocable thing for. The white shirt beneath the blazer had the top two buttons undone, and it was neatly tucked into his blue jeans, which came all the way down to a pair of simple white sneakers.

His hair, though. His hair was the very same organized mess he’d come to get used to; spiky and soft-looking, and harmonious all the same.

It was all very formal, yet very casual. Fushimi could grow used to the t-shirts, tank tops and the accidental, low-key ranger look, but he could definitely grow used to this, too.

It was still Misaki. And it looked good. Very.

As his gaze quickly flicked back to Misaki’s and the tiny wrinkles in the corners of his eyes, he couldn’t help blinking at him without his breathing faltering a little, unable to mimic Misaki’s fond look.

It had only been a few seconds, but every one of them felt incredibly longer, giving him just enough time to drill the semblance into his head.

“What are you doing here?” Fushimi meant no bite, but his words came out curtly, genuinely dumbstruck and only then noticing how dry his mouth was.

Misaki’s content look lasted for just another brief moment before it unfurled in incredulity, his smile dropping. “Hah?” At Fushimi’s unresponsive state, he took the cue to go on. “Uh... I was in that room.”

He pointed to one of the doors behind him, one eyebrow raised inquisitively, like he was seeking for some sign of comprehension from Fushimi and expecting him to reach his conclusions with that response alone.

Fushimi’s stare drifted to the door, then back to him.

“They called me... to testify?”

“To... testify,” Fushimi repeated, just above a murmur.

And then all the dots connected by themselves.

Of course.

As the last stagnated cogs in his mind finished falling into place, both Misaki’s presence and the buildup of his messages began to make terrible sense; Misaki was in Scepter 4 headquarters, and he was naturally expecting to meet Fushimi there, and he was naturally expecting him to be aware of it.

And the Captain didn’t think it would be only... proper to mention that significant little fact?

Fushimi was going to have a word with him.

After that fleeting moment of realization, Misaki shrugged. “Guess I’m a witness now.” Unaware of Fushimi’s internal induction, a small frown immediately found his brow. “I told the others... about what happened yesterday...”

“About—”

“N-not _everything_!” he quickly cut him off, abashed, his cheeks suddenly tinged a shade pinker.

The reaction rubbed off on Fushimi and he looked away, feeling a bit self-conscious, but not exactly repudiating the shudder that tickled through his arms. “It’s fine,” he murmured.

“Y-yeah... well, so, Kusanagi-san — he knows the Director, did some business with him in the past. I don’t know exactly what he did but he got a call last night, and uh... he said I had to come with him and testify today. About that thing from months ago...” His features softened as he gave Fushimi a half-smile.

“I see.”

“Yeah... I thought you knew.”

“I was just told today.”

“Oh.” Misaki brought a hand to his neck, eyes drifting to the floor and smile dropping a little.

An instant later, it came back full force; keeping his chin down in that coy yet suggestive way, he peeked up at Fushimi through his lashes.

“Well... hey.”

Fushimi let out a huff through his nose, unable to help the little smile spreading helplessly across his face. “Hey.”

Baring his teeth, Misaki straightened back up, tucking his hands into his pockets and tipping his head up. “So, this is your base.” He glanced at the ceiling and the sides, as if taking in the view and everything surrounding them.

“I guess it is.”

“Yeah... this place is nice and all but... I dunno if I could get used to this.”

Fushimi hummed, flashing him a half-smirk. “Keep getting yourself in trouble, and you might.”

As soon as the words left him, Misaki swung his head back to him, puzzled. “The hell’s that mean?”

Despite the reason for being there, the foreign milieu, Misaki’s responses were absolute, the frankness in them ever so intact.

“That you never know when someone might have something against you, Misaki.” Fushimi shrugged, his look a smug mix of _‘Am I not right?’_ and _‘I am’_.

The nonplussed expression on Misaki’s face was short-lived, lasting as much as Fushimi meant his threat. Gone as fast as it’d come, a feral grin took its place. “Tch, right. As if you could get _something_ _against me_.”

“Is that a challenge?”

There was a beat of silence before they both disrupted it with a snort, the ridiculousness of their exchange closing in on them, unstoppable.

Fushimi instinctively raised the thin folder in his hand to his mouth, holding it upright against his smile and asking in a breathless rush, “And what’s with that outfit?”

“Huh?” Misaki’s eyebrows quirked up as he looked down at himself. “Oh. This...” He propped a hand on his hip, his other reaching for his collar; despite not being buttoned all the way up, he was pulling at it like it was a nuisance.

“Heh, so you can dress good once in a while,” Fushimi drawled with a half-smirk.

Instead of the fuming comeback he’d been expecting, Misaki blinked up at him a few times before finally asking, incredulous, “Y-yeah? You think so?”

Fushimi felt his heartbeat leap. He’d obviously meant to sound mocking, despite what truth lay underneath, but when Misaki looked up at him, eyes slightly wide and a breathless, heavy silence between them, the weight of his words made his heart turn over.

“Whatever, it’s just clothes,” he huffed out with the last of the breath he’d been holding, the corner of his lips twitching down behind the folder he held against his face.

Misaki’s lips parted slightly, then curled to form a tiny smile, his gaze skittering over the floor. “Y-yeah. Right.” He let go of the collar to reach his finger up, scratching lightly across his jaw, between his ear and chin. “I guess so.”

Fushimi wasn’t sure what that look meant, but it made his throat itch to rewind time back to when Misaki first asked — _yes, he did_ think so _, so what?_

“Kusanagi-san told me to look nice, or something,” Misaki went on, tipping his head slightly to the side with the tiniest pout on his lips. It was supposed to make him look vexed, but it ended up being something adorable to see.

He bent over a little then.

“I mean...” He wasn’t looking at Fushimi, but behind him and to the sides as he raised a hand to his mouth and whispered, “It’s better if I look like everyone else here, right? Make a good first impression, y’know? Kusanagi-san thought it, too...”

Fushimi swallowed, allowing himself a moment to will his breathing to pick up a more steady rhythm. He couldn’t help but feel a bit powerful. Oh, the juicy details he could spew out; _Misaki_ and _first impressions_ in the same sentence was prone to be everything but insipid.

Sure, ‘nice’ wasn’t quite the only adjective he had in mind to describe how Misaki looked, but it worked, he supposed. It didn’t change how Misaki was or acted.

Raising the reports further to the bridge of his nose, Fushimi’s heavy-lidded eyes stared down at Misaki just above the top edge of the folder as he marked his words with a subtle tilt of his neck, feeling frisky. “Hm, but I know your true colors.”

As soon as Misaki looked back at him and caught the lift of Fushimi’s cheeks, he leaned back abruptly, only to reach out to grip Fushimi’s unresisting arm and lower his hand. “Hey, knock that off!” he barked with a grin.

Fushimi didn’t bother putting up a fight, allowing the warmth of Misaki’s fingers to seep through his wristband for as long as they wrapped around it. When he pliantly dropped his arm to his side, Misaki let go of him.

“I have nothing to hide, okay?”

“Hm. It took me a bit to digest you had a thing for exotic pets.” There was no way he was letting that slip by so easily.

Misaki’s eyelids drooped over his eyes as he breathed out a sigh, his shoulders slumping with his exhale. “I’m never gonna hear the end of it, huh.” After a moment, he cracked one eye open, then the other. He quickly straightened his stance, puffing out his chest. “It was a test, okay!”

Fushimi craned his neck forward, feigning interest. “Enlighten me again?”

“I was testing you!” Misaki stressed, raising his index finger between them. “I had to know if you could be trusted!”

Fushimi rolled his eyes. “That is as dumb as the whole introductory video thing.”

The silence crashed over them like falling ice.

When he looked back at Misaki, his jaw had dropped slightly and his eyes looked like they were about to pop out of his head. “Wh-what?”

_Ah, shit._

Fushimi’s heart thudded a bit faster. “It’s what people do, right?” he breathed out shakily.

To his surprise, Misaki relaxed immediately. “R-really?”

He felt an odd pang at that. He hoped Misaki wasn’t actually asking, because he couldn’t find it in himself to answer. He wasn’t satisfied with what he’d said. It left a sour taste. It wasn’t like he had intentionally sought to listen to him or any of his friends. It just happened.

Well, they were even with the white lies with this.

He could only offer a shrug in response, unable to mouth any words.

“W-well, yeah!” Something in Misaki’s eyes appeared to have been rekindled, lifting his mood. “Everyone does it, right?”

And it was as if that alone was prodding all of his weak points at once, that he couldn’t help but stare, taking in Misaki’s form as much as his own sentience allowed him to. And when he couldn’t help the airy sensation that whirled and pirouetted in his chest, he knew it wasn’t just because of that stupid video.

He didn’t think he was to answer, but he let a moment tick by, and then, “Yes.”

“Wh-what’s with that pause... you took too long to answer, you know,” Misaki rasped with a tight smile, his eyebrows twitching.

Fushimi ignored him; as soon as his cheeks itched to fight a smile, he lowered his head to fix his gaze on what few lines of text lay on the front cover of the folder in his hands. Afterwards, there was only silence, but he felt something like relief sweep over him. He didn’t really feel like pretending to focus on something else for that long to distract himself, because Misaki really was easy to talk to.

Only when he raised his gaze he realized the feeling wasn’t as mutual as he thought it was.

Misaki was fidgeting in his spot, his eyes about everywhere on the floor but on Fushimi. It looked like his shoulders were moving in little twitches, up and down, as he feebly grinded his knuckles into the palm of his other hand. It was a bit worrisome to watch.

He couldn’t find it... reassuring.

“Hey... I...”

When Misaki decided to speak, he tucked a hand into the front pocket of his jeans, bringing the other to his nape. Fushimi’s nerves went on high alert.

“I was just wondering... now that all this is kind of... it’s kind of over and... what I mean to say is — you don’t have to work on... w-we’re... um... i-if they don’t give you any more work, maybe — I-I mean, you still have work to do after this, so — f-fuck, that’s not how this works, right?”

Despite the abrupt halt, Fushimi couldn’t add to the jumble; as if hearing the words Misaki had been rambling to himself in his mind before reordering them into something coherent wasn’t cryptic enough, before he could assign the faintest meaning to them, Misaki was dropping his arms at his sides and inhaling with intent, so deeply that Fushimi could hear the air rushing through his nose.

And second later, he looked up, his brow knitted and his eyes so sharp that they could have made anyone want to look away from their intensity.

“Are you free later — t-today? This evening?”

The corners of his mouth immediately curled up in a small smile as he worried his bottom lip between his teeth, and as Fushimi caught the glimpse of those teeth gnawing down on one side of that pink flesh, he remembered the feel of it against his own, the weight of their tongues touching.

What it felt like to kiss him, basically.

None of them had mentioned anything about it, but they hadn’t made any visible effort to turn around and stay apart from the other either, which had to mean their thoughts were in sync. Fushimi had been having that little nagging thought in the back of his mind — that seeing Misaki after what happened wasn’t ought to be the most comfortable experience. But watching him right there, listening to him, talking to him... it all felt completely normal.

And he wasn’t that oblivious to not have an idea of where Misaki was going with... all this.

And the kiss wasn’t even the reason he wasn’t turning him down.

Just part of the reason.

Maybe he did owe _some_ small percentage to it, but the rest was because if Misaki was suggesting what Fushimi thought he was, it sounded good and doable, even for someone like himself. Especially with someone like Misaki.

The thought was a bit scary, but... he’d been doing rather well, right?

He’d have to make time for him, time he didn’t have today, but...

“Today... is not...” he began — before a fourth word could leave him, Misaki’s eyelids were dropping slightly, and his smile, already unsteady from the beginning, wavering.

“Oh...” One of his hands reached back up slowly, pulling at his collar again as his eyes deliberately veered off to the side. “O-okay... don’t worry!”

Something about that display made Fushimi grimace, and he couldn’t help clicking his tongue; that, along with the exaggerated huff of breath he gave in response must have been enough to divert Misaki’s attention back to him, because Misaki suddenly stopped fiddling with his shirt and was watching him with a little frown, incredulously.

Really, Misaki didn’t have to look so let down so quickly.

_So impatient — who’s worrying here?_

Misaki was still staring at him, rather patiently, truth be told, and Fushimi reveled a little in the attention before he reached up to thread his fingers through the hair at the back of his head. “I have a deadline tomorrow,” he huffed out, like the sole mention of it was a bother.

Somehow, with Misaki’s frown gradually loosening now, lips parting ever so slightly, Fushimi couldn’t hold his gaze this time, looking away and keeping his gaze down.

“I’m free... after that,” he added in a low murmur, but no less audible than his usual timbre.

When he peeked up back at him, Misaki’s smile had grown uncontainable, wide and toothy. “So... you wanna?” he probed, raising both eyebrows.

Fushimi feigned when it was obvious that Misaki wasn’t expecting a negative answer and Fushimi wasn’t about to give him one, he allowed a smile to curl the corner of his mouth. “Is this your way of saying I passed your test?”

Even though Misaki simply pressed his lips together, keeping his smile intact, the implicit enthusiasm behind that look was now undoubtedly matching Fushimi’s.

Not bothering with a response, Misaki lowered his arms, tucking his hands into his pocket and burying his head between his shoulders slightly. “So... I’ll call you later or... you got my number, right?” he asked, earning him a raised eyebrow he rolled his eyes at as he brought a hand to his head and ran his fingers through his hair. “Right, ‘course you do.”

Seriously.

Fushimi let out an amused huff through his nose. “It would be really awkward if it turned out I’ve been talking with somebody else all this time.”

“Heh, right... uh...” There was a visible moment of hesitation, then, “What do we do now?”

“You have any other appointment?” Fushimi raised an eyebrow at him.

“Nah, I’m done,” Misaki admitted with a small shrug; a split second later his lips were parting slowly, his own words sinking in. “Right... you gotta back to work and I gotta... they gave me a half-day off, so... ‘m gonna kill some time, I guess.” He gave a small smile, although no less significant.

“Sure.”

“I can text you later,” he said, voice laced with inquiry.

Fushimi’s lips twitched up. “That’s the plan.”

For being somewhat suspicious of that nagging feeling that the moment Misaki was out of his sight everything — his decisions — would all crash down over him, and despite all the short responses, he managed to remain strangely composed.

“Great. Then... see you later.”

Fushimi gave a nod.

Their eyes lingered on each other for a moment. Even when the reassuring look on Misaki’s face was then replaced with the back of his head and gone with his departure, that pestering feeling wasn’t coming.

“Misaki,” Fushimi instinctively called when he saw Misaki place a hand on the banister of the stairs leading to the warehouse, causing him to stop and look over his shoulder.

“Yeah?”

“Where are you going?”

Misaki glanced to the front, then back at Fushimi. “Uh... out?”

“Out.”

“Yeah.”

“That’s not where the exit is.”

Misaki blinked at him. “Oh.”

Fushimi deliberately narrowed his gaze. “... You didn’t sneak in, did you?”

Misaki’s eyes widened a bit as he spun around to face him, clearly alarmed. “No! I-it’s my first time here!” He looked away, his lips pursed in a pout as if he’d been offended. “And I was nervous. Kusanagi-san led the way so I didn’t exactly _look_ where I was going.”

Fushimi snorted. “Really. Come on.”

Tucking the reports beneath his forearm, his other hand hung loosely from his pocket as he led the way down the corridor, Misaki taking a few quick steps toward him and following close by his side. It felt odd; Misaki really was here, and Fushimi was walking him out of his workplace. The footsteps clacking on the floor were their own, and it still managed to be anything but unnerving. There was a sort of pleasant calm that wasn’t much different from the one he got when he was on his own.

His brain, on the other hand...

“What kind of music do you like,” he blurted out, tone quiet and flat. It wasn’t like the silence that settled between them when their voices stopped blending together was uncomfortable, but his sense of intellect decided it was the perfect time to shut down and let the words shoot out from his mouth before he could stop them.

It wasn’t even voiced as a question, more like a strained order.

If he had to be honest with himself, it sounded totally, sadly lame. Although their gait remained steady, unwavering, he almost wished he could turn back and leave Misaki to find his way out on his own and still keep his pride intact.

He felt Misaki eye him for a moment before turning his head to the front and up, seemingly ruminating on his options.

“Uh... whatever sounds good,” he replied, as if that actually said something substantial about his musical taste. After a short pause, Misaki searched his face and Fushimi met his expectant gaze from the corner of his eye. “You?”

Fushimi blinked, considering it for a moment. He should have known it was a prosaic thing to ask, but now that he’d asked — or attempted to — he felt curious. “Like what?”

Misaki didn’t seem to mind the elusion, humming in thought briefly before suggesting, “Hm... _Rolling Glacier_?”

“What kind of name is that?”

Misaki huffed out a laugh. “Right? They’re not bad, though.”

“They’re fine, I guess.”

“How about _The Articulate_?”

“Noise.”

“They won Best New Artist of the year, y’know?”

“Still noise.”

“Hah. Okay, yeah, all right... let’s see... _Cumulus Zero_? He’s decent.”

“Zero idea who that is.”

“Did you just—”

There hadn’t been any reports of bear attacks in a long time, but suddenly, there were; and while Fushimi stood firm on the belief that he wasn’t made for that, as they walked away and the stoic walls soaked up the echo of their voices and the laughter they occasionally squeezed out of the other’s chest, he had to ask himself — what were some nest-dodging action, sore feet and muddy boots compared to this?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks so much to [xladysaya](http://archiveofourown.org/users/xladysaya/pseuds/xladysaya) who beta-read this chapter! ♥ And to [Chrome](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Chromophilic_Daydream/pseuds/Chromophilic_Daydream) who beta-read the other five! And to [silvercheshire](http://archiveofourown.org/users/silvercheshire/pseuds/silvercheshire) for picking the most awesome words for the bands’ names. ^^
> 
> And that, my friends, is so _not_ how the police usually solve a case, LOL! Anyway, from the very beginning this was about those two meeting in this particular place, and finding little bits in common and differences. Please don’t rely on the (lack of) accuracy of the all the legal aspects of this fic, heh. *praying emoji*
> 
> That said, thank you so much for all the readings, comments, kudos, and for making it this far! :) The fact that you guys still gave this little story a chance makes me happy, and maybe even more considering the whole thing was from Fushimi’s POV. Thank you! You’re the best! ^^


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